Season of Souls
by A.J.Royce
Summary: It has been 3 months since the life-changing Mortal War, and all has been well-that is until a night two weeks before Christmas. Alec Lightwood is killed, and the demon he was fighting nowhere to be found. This sets the Shadowhunters off on a whole new journey, this time they must battle in a war like no other: a war across the Shadow Realms.
1. Prologue: Reqiuem

_For best reading experience, please set your story width to 3/4 or 1/2; additionally, please set your story spacing to the first or second expand, whichever provides the best results for you. To get an even better experience, set your font to Georgia and your paper setting to the fifth paper setting. I apologize for the way that this is posted, I did not know that my documents from MS Word would not convert the exact same way as when they are in MS Word, hence the reason for no indention's or space between paragraphs. _

_Thank you, and I hope that this helped! Enjoy the story!_

* * *

Prologue  
Requiem

_"I fear I am writing a requiem for myself."—W. A. Mozart_

* * *

The rain pelted the windows and flooded the courtyard. You could barely walk through the front gates without getting your shoes and socks soaked. It was a hopeless attempt to even try as much. The Institute stood cold as ever, its spires merged with the grey sky, the ivory that covered its cold stone walls, wilted and clung with all the strength they could to its sides. Even so, the Institutes large oak doors were decorated with a single piece of décor: a wreath made of golden leaves, ruby like mulberries, and several small pieces of weaponry. Christmas was less than two weeks away.  
Clary pushed open the gate in front of the courtyard. Her sweater provided little warmth, as she scurried across the courtyard with her umbrella clutched in her right hand with an iron grip. She reached the front doors of the Institute, she crashed through them, slipping into the warmth, and slammed the large door behind her. She tucked away her umbrella tossing it behind a pew, and shrugged off her sweater.  
That was a mistake.  
It seemed to be just as cold in the room as it was outside. Above, the stain glass windows let in only grey light, casting a strange glow across the room. Clary half expected a ghost to appear and tap her on the shoulder for a good laugh. She hurried down the aisle between the pews, but something caught her eye to the left. She quickly stopped and whirled around.  
Sitting in the ninth pew from the front, staring towards the front of the room, was Jace. Though, he looked just as grey as they light that poured into the room.  
"Jace?" Clary said, and stepped forward. He did not react to her, he did not turn to her, he merely stared to the front of the room. Clary slowly noticed little things: his hair was longer, there were deep bags under his eyes, and a dark shadow had curtained his face. Clary slipped into the Pew and sat down next to him. She took his hand, which was brisk. "Jace," Clary said again this time leaning in. Her tone was terribly concerned, and she feared that I might have been dead. But Jace didn't just _die_, especially in a nave of an Institute, of all places. "Jace, can you hear me?" He turned to her finally, and gave her an incredulous look. It was a look that begged the question, 'do I know you?'  
"Clary…Clary, when did you get here?" He asked slowly taking up her hands. She didn't speak at first, only her mouth hung open. She shook her head.  
"Jace, I just walked in, and I saw you sitting here in the pews. What's wrong? You look like you haven't bathed in days." She almost added, _you smell like it too_, of course she didn't want to seem too harsh. "And when was the last time you slept? Jace—"  
"Alec is dead." Clary clutched his hands tightly, and something like artic wind shot through her. She felt hollow for a moment and swayed, unable to truly understand the words that had come out of Jace's mouth.  
"What?" She gulped the words, truly forcing them to part from throat.  
"Alec is dead." He said bitterly and closed his eyes tightly, "he's dead Clary—gone!" His voice echoed throughout the room like thunder. Something hit the floor. Soft, nearly silent, but there.  
A tear.  
"Clary, I want to be alone right now, and you're not helping by just sitting there." He said without looking at her. He had placed a hand over his face. Thunder rolled, and Clary stared at Jace, unable to think what to do. What were you supposed to do when your boyfriend had just lost his only _parabatai_? What were you supposed to do when you had just lost the closest thing you had to a brother? How were you supposed to react? Clary had never lost anyone before, anyone who was close to her like Jace. Sure there was her mother, when she Valentine had captured her, but after the truth coming out in the months before, she didn't really know how her mother was. How much could she trust her mother? Even so, there were not many lost souls in Clary's life, Jace was another story though.  
She stood, and nodded without him watching, and made her way to the elevator, a chorus of thunder singing behind her. Lighting struck as the elevator doors close. Through the crack between the doors, she could see Jace's body convulse as he sobbed.

Clary found Isabelle sitting at her bedroom window. The rain had curtained the window, causing fog to collect at the bottom of the window. Isabelle's usual long black hair was now tied into a messy bun at the back of her head. Hair was stuck up all around her head. She had a cover around her and in her lap there was a dagger—a seraph blade in fact. She turned to Clary and Clary saw, rare it was, Isabelle without her makeup. Her dark eyes were nearly black, and they were full of lividness. Before Clary could realize, Isabelle was coming towards her with her arms outstretched. Tears streamed down her face.  
"Clary—Clary…" she trailed off as she threw herself into Clary and sobbed into her shoulder. Clary stood still at first, then she wrapped her arms around Isabelle. She wanted to say that it was going to be okay, but it wasn't. Technically, or quite literally, Isabelle was the last Lightwood child alive. Clary felt a horrible roll in her stomach, a roll for Isabelle. Just a few months ago, they lost Max—their sweet, nine year old brother—and now Alec. Without thinking, Clary found that now Isabelle and Jace had something to talk about. She swallowed, pursing her lips, and gripped Isabelle tighter.

Isabelle sat criss-cross on the bed, her long hair tossed over her shoulders, reaching down to her legs. She was frowning as she painted Clary's nails. It was the only thing that seemed to settle her. Giving her something to do was appropriate, and Clary had found that it got your mind off of that which troubled you. Having some form of initiative, something automatic.  
"I don't know what to say…" Clary said as Isabelle started on her third toe.  
"Don't say anything, it's fine. It's not like you can actually say anything that would be of comfort to me. You've never lost two brothers in one year…in a few months." Isabelle's eyes were becoming glassy again, and Clary feared she would see Isablele convulse like Jace in the nave. Isabelle slowly came to say, "Sorry, I didn't mean to be harsh." Clary shook her head.  
"It's fine, you're right. I'll never understand." She wouldn't, it was just the facts. She didn't have brothers or sisters, she had a mother, a dead father, and Luke. She'd probably be broke if she lost her mother and Luke, and she could only imagine if she lost Jace. Again.  
"How is Magnus taking it?" This made Isabelle smirk a little.  
"I don't mean to laugh, but I've never seen a Warlock cry, especially not Magnus Bane. Moreover, I've never seen a Warlock lose anyone they truly loved." Clary rose her eyebrows.  
"He accidentally burned down his apartment with the _feels_. Apparently, the shock of Alec dying was so overwhelming, he made hell rise to the earth."  
"Where is he now?"  
"In the Institute, but I'm not sure where. The last time I saw him, he was chasing Church and Chairman Meow through the halls."  
"When will the funeral be?" Clary instantly regretted speaking the words aloud. Isabelle stopped and stared at her toes before she capped the brush and clutched it tightly. After taking a long time to think, Isabelle shook her head and uncapped the brush again.  
"I don't know, we hadn't started making arrangements for as much." She dripped the brush into the polish and began to brush it over Clary's nails again.  
Clary couldn't contain herself, and she broke the silence. "How did he die?" Isabelle sighed and capped the brush again. She smiled up at Clary, it was a half friendly, half agitated smile.  
"I see that you are terribly unappreciative of the service I am doing by painting your hideous toe nails." Clary's mouth stood open in an 'O', but Isabelle went on. "But, since you insist upon being so inquirious this horrible afternoon, then fine. Come with me to the Library." Isabelle hopped off of her bed and started for the door. Clary didn't immediately follow, but when Isabelle was already in the hall, she took flight behind her.

The Library was quiet as ever, as always rather, the only true sound came from the rain that collided with the windows above. A table to the side was cluttered with large sheets of parchment, stacks of printed paper, and several leather-bound books. At it was Maryse Lightwood, who looked no better than Isabella, as they were nearly twins.  
The Library was also decorated for Christmas, with several mistletoe decorations, and a few small trees. Even so, the room was still dark and almost unwelcoming. This sent chill's up Clary's spine as she and Isabelle entered the Library, the muffled sound of their bare feet met Maryse's ears. She looked up from her books and notes, her hair was matted and purple bags rested under her eyes. She gave the best smile she could, which was not much.  
"Clary," she said as she pushed herself from the table. "what a surprise it is to see you here. Shouldn't you be at home helping your mother and Luke with their wedding arrangements?" Clary smiled at the horrid prospect of such as thought.  
"No, I think they'd rather be alone anyways." Maryse nodded and went back to sit. Her once smooth black hair, not much unlike Isabelle's, was standing up in every direction around her head, and her blue eyes were dark with exhaustion and remorse. "Please, sit girls; Isabelle, honey, have you called up anything to drink. I'm sure Clary's offal cold in here." Isabelle nodded and she and Clary took a chair in front of Maryse.  
"Now," Maryse said after a long while of scrawling down more notes from a large book. "why have you girls come to see me?"  
"Clary wants to know." Maryse's gentlest look in this dark time faded like smoke. She swallowed and nodded.  
"Right…I think we should wait for the hot chocolate." Clary gulped. Just how long was this story?  
When the chef, a small man with freckles and red cheeks, brought up the hot chocolate. Maryse closed the leather bounds with bookmarks in each. She shoved her papers aside, and took a deep breath. She examined the table for a long while, before she finally began to speak.  
"Jace failed to mention that he believes Magnus may have killed Alec. They were all together, dealing with affairs on the Brooklyn Bridge." Maryse pulled a large square of parchment from one of the books. It was in fact a page. On it there was a strange drawing of a demon, it seemed to be a mixture between a lion, goblin, horse, and many other creatures. At the bottom of the parchment, it read Asmodeus. "This is Asmodeus, a King of Hell. He hasn't been seen for many centuries, in fact the last time Shadowhunters have ever recorded him actually harming mortals and Shadowhunters was sometime in 1232, when he possessed a mortal boy and burned the English Countryside. A Shadowhunter named Gregory Clinch killed him with a warlock named Rapher, to which they scattered him across nineteen dimensions. That would explain why it is we have not seen him for so long, as no demon ever dies, rather they are scattered. I think you know that, don't you Clary?" Clary nodded, and Maryse nodded as well. "Anyhow, Asmodeus has apparently been active for five or so years now, the first recorded meeting being in Venice a few years ago, a Clave member by the name of Clover Scott—obviously a false name—was plotting to kill an angel, for reasons unknown. So, he looked to Demons for help, and he found Asmodeus, who was more than happy to help. This is when problems started.  
"Asmodeus broke a deal with Clover. As long as Clover paid him every year, he would help Clover recruit an army of Demons to destroy angels and even take the Clave and Covenant if he liked. This payment was made with Shadowhunter to blood, which powered Asmodeus. I have concluded that Asmodeus is not just helping to destroy Angels—all demons strive to do as much—but to exact revenge on the Shadowhunters on his ancient death by Ser Clinch, and I have also come to conclude that Asmodeus was going to double cross Scott at some time, when he was powerful enough to do extreme damage himself, and destroy the Clave." Maryse took a swallow from her hot chocolate. Isabelle had yet to touch hers, though she decided too and swallowed deeply. Warmth welled through her body, and the room seemed all the warmer in contrast.  
"Shall I go on?" Clary nodded. "Well, on the night that Alec was killed, Clover was meeting with Modey—that is my nickname for him, Asmodeus is such a mouthful—as Clove had just realized a new phase in his plan. Tonight, he was revealing the Angel he would be killing, and the things he would need to do it. I have not deduced anything about such materials and such procedures, but I do know the angel he plans to kill." She produced a large stack of paper from her piles, and a parchment drawing. On it, there was a small boy with a thin halo around his head. In his hands was a harp…its strings were made of lighting. Under the picture, read _Barachiel_.  
"You didn't show me this, mother." Isabelle said as she took up the picture. "The Angel of Lightning?" Maryse nodded.  
"I don't know why Barachiel of all the angels to kill, Modey's biggest threat would probably be Angel Michael; but I'm still trying to learn more about this…plot, I suppose we shall call it. Still, Alec had apparently been following this one case since early 2004, when he was no more than 15 years old, he just never spoke up about it." She took another long swallow of hot chocolate, and stared at the half drained mug, and sighed. "You don't have to be home at a certain time, do you Clary?" Clary shook her head.  
"I don't think my mom would mind we staying here at the Institute, she's been pretty mellow about things since Luke and she got engaged, not to mention everything that threatened our lives is now over." Maryse nodded.  
"Well, Alec finally informed Jace on this case, and Jace—reluctantly—decided that Magnus would be their best chance at actually destroying Modey, so together they set off to the meeting place on the Brooklyn Bridge."  
"Why the Brooklyn Bridge?" Maryse smirked a little, and it surprised Clary to see such.  
"Well, I think my theory of betrayal may have been on Modey's mind, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Alec lied to me—he had been lying for many years about this—telling me he and Jace had cited a demon in Union City, so I let them go, naturally. I wasn't going to stop them, things have been pretty boring around here for the most part, in my opinion."  
"You got that right, mom." Isabelle said as she finally took a sip from her mug. Clary had to concur with them. In the months she had spent training, coming straight to the Institute after school every day, and spending weekends with Jace, things had been pretty quiet. The occasional demon attack, sometimes a demon fire at the docks, but nothing too noticeable. In fact, it seemed as though the Mortal War has caused any demon who had even thought about attacking the Shadowhunters was backing off. A perpetual silence in the Force, one might say.  
"I cannot truly say what happened when they left, but I have gathered many things, even without the help or inquire of Jace." She frowned at mention of his name, but quickly continued on. "Instead of going to Union City, they quickly hauled over to Magnus's house where they told him of the situation. Soon after that, Magnus may have teleported them there."  
"Wouldn't we know if they did?" Isabelle said.  
"We should have, but that's why I say 'may'. When they arrived at the Brooklyn Bridge, I'm thinking that Alec may have started investigating the bridge, searching for Clover and anything that might be Modey. My theory is that Modey and Clover were already meeting and the boys were just a little bit late. They broke in on Modey and Clover's interview uninvited, in which Clover broke out into the battle to defend Modey, of course I think it was Modey who did most of the fighting out of he and Clover.  
"The reason I say this is because no Shadowhunter can set the East River on fire." Isabelle and Clary stiffened. Isabelle planted her feet on the floor from under her butt.  
"How much of this story have you been keeping from me mother?" Snapped Isabelle. Maryse gave a hard look to her daughter, but quickly turned to Clary.  
"I haven't been keeping anything from you, I've just begun to uncover more evidence and investigate more thing. My story isn't flawless yet, and most of what I told you earlier today was just speculation." Maryse said quickly and she began to riffle through her papers.  
"Well it would have been nice for you to have informed me when you thought you had come up with something." Maryse quickly turned on Isabelle.  
"Don't you speak to me like that, we're not even supposed to be investigating this case, and I have been working all morning, all night since Jace came home tyring to figure out what happened."  
"And how come you haven't set up a funeral for Alec?" Isabelle barked back at Mayse who gasped. Isabelle shot from her chair and started out of the Library. Clary started to get her, but Maryse was up on her feet as well, and she wrapped her cold fingers around Clary's hand. Clary turned back to her, her crimson hair whirling around her head.  
"Let her go, she'll be back." Clary stared at Maryse's dark eyes for another long moment, and then sat back down. Behind her, the sound of the Library's oaken doors slamming echoed through the room.  
"Now…" Maryse said as she began going through her papers again, she finally pulled a printed sheet from a website. She slid it towards clary and tapped her finger on one of the subtitles. "There, Hellion Fire. It's the basic opposite of Heavenly Fire, and only Greater Demons can summon it." Clary stared at th picture tot eh side. It showed anything and everything burning, as though it were real fire. She screwed up her face in confusion.  
"What's the difference between it and real fire?" She said looked up at Maryse.  
"Aside from the fact that it can turn water into fire, anything it touches turns into a demon, lesser and greater—it is incredibly unstable and unpredictable—and it can even warp you into another dimension." Clary gasped and looked back down at the page. "And last night," Maryse revoked the page from her eyes. "there was a flash that didn't go unnoticed around the city. It was Robert who came and woke me up about it. I didn't think anything of it—I was half asleep, and I wasn't thinking of demons and demon fire—until Jace and Magnus returned. Magnus and Jace didn't say anything, in fact, Magnus has been just as helpful as Jace, which is unlike him." Maryse said all of his quickly and undoubtedly.  
"Why would Asmodeus set the River on fire?" A shadow rose upon Maryse's face, and she spoke with a hard, dark tone.  
"A diversion, an escape, and a very strategic move." The realization hit Clary like lighting to the head.  
"He used the fire to create a small army to put up against Jace, Alec and Magnus." Maryse didn't nod, but something on her face told Clary she was half right.  
"That, and Asmodeus knew Alec would jump in after him—he had after all spent several years tracking him, and Asmodeus must have known." She stood now and put her hands behind her back. She started for the window at the other end of the room. It was covered in fog and rain much like Isabelle's window.  
"So," Clary said, taking her leave from her chair. "will there be a funeral?"  
Tension instantly entered the room, but Maryse took a deep breath, and this could be seen even from behind her. "No, no…if Alec did jump into the fire, then there may still be a chance that he is alive, alive in another dimension, captured by Clover and Asmodeus." Clary didn't like the sound of that. "Though, for now, we should keep learning, understanding, and searching. Christmas is coming Clary, and I don't want to put my armor back on just yet, we just got out of a war." Maryse looked over her shoulder at Clary and smiled. "We shouldn't be starting another one just yet, shall we?"


	2. Cry by Night

1  
Cry by Night

He pressed the phone to his ear, again. It was the third time today, and as he sat in Taki's, he feared something terrible had happened. Something terrible always happened when you were friends with a Shadowhunter in training. He had learned that quickly. Like when he and Clary had been working on that one history project, and Clary accidentally wrote a rune on the paper instead of a letter. In the moments after that, they were battling with the walking alphabet. There was also the time that Clary went to the bathroom at the subway, and when he went to fetch her so they didn't miss the train, he found her arm and arm with an octopus demon she called Octirora. Simon was still, to this very day, afraid to visit the stalls in the subway, fearing what might slip up his—  
His phone vibrated on the table, and he jumped, and then sighed, finding that it was just another one of those vacation callers. In that same instance, he slowly began to remember that it was Christmas time, snow would be falling soon, and already around Manhattan, it looked like one of those whimsical Christmas movies you saw on TV.  
Suddenly, Jace Herondale, golden haired and just _gorgeous _walked into Taki's found Simon's booth, and threw himself into it. Simon raised his eyebrows to him. Up close, Jace was no looker. Bags hung under his eyes, and his hair was all over his heads, two points stuck up like horns. He truly was the devil Simon had always perceived to be. He smirked at the thought of such.  
"What are you laughing about?" He snarled coldly. Simon shook his head.  
"Something funny happened earlier." Jace gave him an obviously unconvinced stare, and then rolled his eyes at Simon.  
"You're a terrible liar Simon, and you really always have been, if we're being honest." Simon put up his hands in defense.  
"Are we being snarkier than usual? Has the weather got you under the mood?"  
"Don't test me, I'm not in the mood."  
"You're never in the mood." Simon said, and suddenly, one of the demon waitresses walked up to the table. She was a demon with mint green skin,a nd eyes large and black.  
"Simon," she said with a smile. Simon looked up at her and gave a faint smile. It was the same demon waitress who had been serving him for the past three months. Her name was Abnalla, a name Simon would never forget in all his eternity.  
"Abby, how are you today." Jace, for once all day, actually smirked, though it looked quite strange in his present state.  
"I'm fine, and how you are and your friend." She said turning to Jace with those enormous black eyes, like dark orbs they rolled, and so they rolled back to Simon. Simon and Jace nodded, and Simon kicked Jace under the table and gave him a vicious look. Jace grimaced.  
"What can I get you two boys?" She asked as she whipped out her pen and paper.  
"Just coffee." Simon said; Abnalla scrawled.  
Jace didn't answer for a long moment. "Coffee." Simon's eyes widened, and Jace leaned back in his seat.  
"Great," Abnalla said as she scrawled the on the pad, and smiled as she whirled around to head back to the kitchen. She winked at Simon.  
"I see that you have a demon crush." Jace said with all teeth.  
"Oh shut up. What's up with you getting coffee, this is the real Jace right?" He reached out and waved his hand in Jace's face, to which Jace was about to smack, but then his eyes met the mark on Simon's forehead, and he stopped himself.  
Simon gave him a look, and then he looked down at his phone and remembered. "Oh."  
"Yeah, you're lucky." Jace muttered.  
"Feels good to be." he smiled. "How come you came here? Surely it wasn't to just chat it up with me, was it?" Jace shook his head.  
"No, I came to ask you a favor." One eyebrow raised on Simon's face.  
"Go on." Jace bit his lip, and pushed a hand through his hair. Jace never needed to gather his words, it was just a day of shocks for Simon.  
"Three days ago, or the night before, Alec…Alec died." Simon sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn't known the Shadowhunters of the New York Institute all that well, he knew them well enough, but even so, when someone dies it is not something that you simply sit and think about. No matter how well the person is known, such revelations are always striking. Simon swallowed hard, he could faintly imagine the inner turmoil that Jace must have gone through…he knew how it would feel too loose Clary…  
"I'm not going to ask."  
"Thank you, but aside from that, I wanted to ask if you'd come with me to do something." Simon shifted his weight, he still didn't like where this was going.  
"Yes…"  
"Will you come with me and help find him?" Simon gawked at Jace, if his heart was beating, it would have stopped. Something like being lightheaded passed through him, and he swooned.  
"Well I'm flattered, really, but isn't this something that you should be going to Magnus for?" Adnalla was coming back and she was smiling, her shark-like teeth were piercing her lips, but they didn't bleed. She et the coffee dowon the table and clapped her hands together.  
"Enjoy, especially you Simon." She said and hurried way, Simon could already hear her squealing from here. They both took their respective cups, and both took a swallow. The warm liquid splashed into Simon's hallow stomach, and at first a burning sensation filled his stomach, slowly it was reduced to nothing but a warm tinge.  
Even enjoying coffee had become somewhat painful for the lonely Daylighter.  
They sat listening to the disjointed, yet mellifluous tunes of Taki's, with the people chattering, and the unintelligible music in the background that played above. In more ways than one, it had become Simon's Java Jones. Though, he and his band—currently the Firehouse Hipsters—would always play by a different name every Thursday night. Vampire or not, he was still a rocker at heart.  
Her snorted. How ironic. "So, are you going to help me?" Jace said, breaking Simon from his thoughts.  
"Why exactly do you want _me_, of all the Downworlders to go to, you chose me?" Jace pointed towards Simon's forehead. Simon's expression was flat, and he frowned at Jace.  
"You're joking right? Are you depending on this thing," he jabbed his fingers towards his forehead. "to protect us or something?" Jace grinned mischievously.  
"Nope, that's cruel, and you are still a jerk. Can't you lighten up, it's almost Christmas man." Simon said outstretching his arms.  
"I don't believe in Christ, so I don't celebrate _Christ_mas, and why not make that my little present? Not that I couldn't use a new seraph blade, or maybe a Shanghai katana, that would be a real nice gift. How bout' it ol' pal." Jace, already forgetting the mark, nearly touched Simon, and stopped his hand short before the Mark could obliterate him. "You get the picture."  
Simon causally gulped down more of his coffee, not actually thinking about it, rather he was once again wondering about Clary. "Where is Clary?"  
This took Jace by surprise. "At the Institute, she has been kind of comforting Isabelle." Jace said. There was something in his voice, a sorrow, or even a vacantness.  
"I see…" Simon drank more coffee. "she hasn't been talking to you has she?"  
"Unless you count waving, then no." Simon pursed his lips. He'd only been immortal for a few months, not a lot of time to become the wise one, but he thought he had his fair share of knowledge.  
"Well, have you tried talking to her? Or have you just been cold as the rain?" Jace pondered this, and he gripped his coffee cup with both hands. Simon read his way through the labyrinth of faded white runes on his fingers and hands, and he traced his eyes along fresh ones. The Mark of Cain had slowly began to look like one of those old ones, but ti still kept it's darkness, just as when Clary had first drawn it on that week in September. Funny, that whole thing seemed much like a dream than a reality. Demons filling the sky, and him going A-Team…  
It felt good to fulfill your dreams after so many long years doing just the opposite.  
"I haven't really been talking…When you lose a _parabatai_, you don't just feel like sunshine and rainbows. You feel like you just got…what is it that you mundane's call it—_swirly's_, yes. It's like that. Like being bashed in the face with a sledgehammer relentlessly for hours on end. It's like losing your mother a hundred times—though I would never know such—or…or like losing Clary every time you wake up in the morning." Sadness had reached his voice, and his knuckles budged under his skin as he clutched the coffee cup.  
"You sound like you need intervention."

They left Taki's when it finally stopped raining, and they started for a park near the East River. The very same river that Alec had fallen in three nights before. The streets were still busy on the Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Williamsburg Bridge. The air was cold, and the day was still grey. Below them, the water lapped against the grime covered walls, a rusty yellow long traced along it. Boats made their way past each other, wailing their horns whenever unnecessary.  
Simon and Jace stood at the freezing railing, ice sickles were gathering on them, and rain was still left upon them. From a mundane's perspective, only Simon seemed to be standing there, Jace was hidden under a glamour.  
"Where did he fall?" Simon asked after nearly thirty minutes of them just staring into the grey oblivion of the day. Jace pointed, but Simon didn't connect. "That's not a very good description, I'm afraid." Jace sighed.  
"He fell right in the middle of the bridge, Asm—the demon threw him off balance, he fell in with him. When they fell into the water, they opened a portal, and were gone the next minute. Magnus and I were unable to do anything."  
"How come Magnus didn't just open another portal." Jace threw a hand through his hair, and observed a flock of Pintails flapped up to the Pier 1 Playground.  
"You can't just throw open another Portal, no, they have to be opened at different rifts, plus Magnus had exerted most of his energy on failed attempts to get rid of the demon."  
"How come you don't tell me the name of the demon? I am going on this little quest of yours, so don't I have the right to know exactly what the hell we're going to Hell to fight?"  
"Because, I don't want you going snooping around anything that you can't handle, nor have any business snooping around in. Just because you're a Vampire doesn't make you the next Shadowhunter investigator."  
"It's a free country." Simon countered and jabbed a finger a Jace, who nearly flinched.  
"Yeah, well it's not a free universe. I'm only bringing you along for protection."  
Simon rolled his eyes. "Sure you are. I know that we're friends, you know it too, so stop acting like you don't know. You really just want my company, you lonely little duckling." Simon laughed, and Jace growled.  
After Simon had his good laugh, they both went back to boat and bird watching, the sound of honking cars and wailing sirens sang in their ears, and the wind whistled around them. To the east, there looked to be much darker storm clouds gathering like an army.  
"There's a storm coming, Jace." Jace sighed and put two fingers to the bridge of his nose.  
"Don't try to quote, especially that, it's insulting. Really." Jace started to the sidewalk, Simon followed laughing to himself.

Clary spun threw the dagger, stepped and threw, side stepped and threw, and finally spun and threw again. All this in one motion, and each blade stabbed right into the dummy's chest, only one of them caught the neck. Clary smiled at Isabelle who was sitting on one of the lower windows. She nodded.  
"Impressive, though your stepping was a little off. You have to be precise, and you have to be faster. You were jaunty, and you had too much of a pause. I want you to do it again." Clary gawked, and then closed her mouth as it had fallen open. She retrieved the blades from the dummies heart. They stuck up like shooting stars, their hilts packing the punch. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her red hair was tightened into a thick ponytail. She wore sweats, a tank top, and socks.  
At the moment, she was no Shadowhunter, and in no way possible, ready to throw herself into battle.  
She walked back to her starting place, where Isabelle had placed a blue piece of tape. Her right toe touched the tape. She was facing Isabelle, and one of the daggers was in her right hand, the others clutched in her left. The dummy stood with a poorly painted smile on its face, as though it was mocking Clary. This is just as she saw it. The room was quiet, and Clary zoned in on the dummy. Everything else was zoned out, blurred, only a thin alleyway was left that she had to run through. The dummy was her only foe.  
Within four seconds, Clary spun—her red pony like fire behind her—and the dagger in her right hand flew through the air. She stepped with her left, and the next dagger was sent flying quickly after the first. The third whizzed out of her hand and split the air with its blade, the final one was out of her hand and slicing through the air she landed on her right foot again, only a yard away from the dummy.  
The last blade landed right in the dummy's forehead, and nearly out of the other side. The hilt had stopped it. Clary stood in her starting position, and slowly straightened up. A smile folded across her face as she stared at the damage she had done.  
The first three blade were in a perfect line across the dummy's chest, the last at the forehead. Clary looked up at Isabelle who was beaming down at Clary.  
"Excellent!" the sound of Isabelle's claps rang through the air, and Clary punched her elbow downwards as she felt pride shine out from her. "Now do it again." Clary was suddenly not smiling anymore. "Go on, get the blades, and do it again. I want you to do it until you do the same thing, five times in a row." Isabelle set her head back on the stone behind her, and Clary went muttering to retrieve her blades.  
Dong the same five times in a row couldn't be that hard, could it?  
Indeed it could. Clary had concluded that the first time had been luck. After that, it was a pure catastrophe. Several times she spun out and crashed into the ground, other times she would drop the daggers mid throw, and get off balance trying to shy away from them. Other times she would hit the dummy in all the wrong places, and sometimes she could even forget what she was doing half way through and totally stop. In the end, it took a grand total of two hours for Clary to get five in a row… consistently, which Isabelle had forgotten to mention in the beginning.  
"Great, now we can start working on your long throw." Clary groaned and leaned against the dummy, which was falling before she knew it. In a matter of seconds, they both were on the ground. Clary didn't even care.  
It was another, long, two hours as Clary perched on several high posts, and low posts, and stood nearly fifty yards away from the dummy. There was also many leaps, flips, and sprints. All the while, Isabelle had actually found a magazine and only listed to Clary as she pounded away at the wooden floor.  
Clary hit the floor with a hard gasp, her legs felt as though they had been dipped in boiling water, and her arms and head felt as though they had been set ablaze. The room seemed to topple downward, spiraling and returning just as quickly as she tried to find herself again. Never, in the entire three months she had been training, had she felt so terrible. In fact, she could have—  
Clary was sprinting out of the Training Room and to the nearest bathroom before Isabelle could hop down and put her hands on her hips as she shook her head. "Maybe I did go a little bit overboard." She shrugged and began towards the doors to meet Clary in the bathroom.  
Isabelle found Clary pent over a toilet and sliding the back of her hand across her lips.  
"Please don't tell me there's more." Isabelle shook her head.  
"There's always more Clary, but this time it'll be a little bit easier. Take your time." Clary turned back to the toilet. They would be having a very long date.

When Clary returned to the Training Room, she found Jace examining a blade. She took a few steps forward, and stopped. Jace noticed her presence and slowly turned to her. He smiled.  
"Clary, I'm glad to see you." He started for her, leaving the blade behind. Clary didn't know what to do, she couldn't move, but as eh got closer, she sprinted for him, ignoring the white pain that burned in her legs.  
She threw her arms around Jace, and clung to him. She dig he fingers into his jacket, and buried her face into his chest. He smelt better, he smelt clean—he smelt like _Jace_. He held her, his hard arms and his gentle hands made tears dance in her eyes as she felt him. Her Jace, not the creature that she had come to meet days ago in the nave. They stood there in the yellowing daylight, as though the angels had looked down upon them and decided all was well again. She listened to the warm, and soft thump of his heart within his chest, and tried to press harder against him, as though she wanted to merge with him.  
"You're talking—you're talking to me, Jace." She said, and he nodded at her, kissing her forehead several times and she found herself crying into his chest. She pulled away, but still held his waist. She didn't want to let go, in case the golden light that was breaking through the sky would suddenly fade, and Jace with it.  
"Yes, and I'm sorry I haven't been talking to you…I haven't been myself."  
"I've noticed." She said, and she hugged him again. She didn't know why, but there was a strange sensation as though they had been apart for something like a million years, as though neither had seen each other since they were but young kids in high school. In just three days, they had been so incredibly close, yet so far apart, and it made Clary wonder how stable their relationship was.  
As she stood there hugging him, she wondered just how much it would take to break them.  
"Jace, we're a strong couple right? Nothing—not even the little things—will ever drive ups apart will they?" She asked, without looking at him. She didn't answer for a long time, only his heartbeat, a monotone but beautiful sound and feeling against her head. A soft, drumming lullaby. She didn't realize it, but they were in fact rocking. If only they were in a bed.  
"Yes, yes we are Clary. Nothing will ever drive us apart." She didn't like that he had taken so long to think about the answer, but he accepted it. At least he was talking. She smiled into his red shirt. At least he was talking.

"Extend your arm, you don't want your elbow bent, and then you're going to throw it an angle and not a straight shot. That's a mistake that trainees make. Even I made it, as unlikely as it sounds." Jace whispered into her ear. Clary blushed and extended her dagger arm towards the dummy.  
Golden sunlight, streamed into the Training Room, and Clary didn't mind this. She didn't mind the dim sting in her triceps, or the tight burn in her calf. As long as she was with Jace, as long as he was well and not grey.  
"Now, you're going to spin and throw, and extend. Always extend, extend, extend. Don't over exaggerate though, just enough where your about a good foot over your foot." Clary nodded, and like lightning, she spun and extended, and released. The dagger was sent flying.  
_Pft_, the dagger impaled the dummy's chest. She turned and smiled at Jace, who smiled back at her. She kept smiling, but she could not help but notice the darkness in his eyes, the way that he was there, but all of him was not. No, her Jace was not all there, he was somewhere else. Somewhere where Alec was. She frowned, but went to retrieve her dagger.

Sometime around eight, Luke pulled up in front of the Institute, and Clary kissed Jace on the lips goodbye, her backpack slung over her shoulder. Jace stood at the doors of the institute, the torches burning on either side of the door, sending a sweet warmth wafting onto his skin. He could still feel Clary's lips on his. He waved to Luke, and Clary blew him a kiss, laughing as she rolled up Luke's truck window. In the next few moments they were gone off into the New York night. Jace sighed and leaned against the door for a white longer before the turning and heading back into the warmth of the Institute.  
The halls were mostly dark and the lights cast long shadows across the floor as he walked them. He shuffled his feet rather than lifted them. Though he had done his best to try and be happy around Clary, he could not shrug off the ghost that had shackled itself to him. He walked up the steps to his room, and sat on the bench in front of his bed. Slowly, but without him truly knowing, he fell into a rage filled sob. He clutched the edges of the bench, and before long he was screaming to no one, only to the room. He bellowed as tears streamed down his face in glistening lines.  
A terrible pain began to well up again in his chest, where the rune was. The rune for _parabatai_, the one that would always be there, but would never feel warm or alarm him again. It was a pain like no other, it was a pain never related, and never known again. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped it in half, revealing his bare torso. He clutched the _parbatai_ rune, and bellowed out as he inflicted harrowing and dizzying pain on himself.  
He hollered out, and tears rolled and rolled. Memory after memory raced through his head of Alec, like fire they burned bright, and then they were dimmed, they would only blaze brighter the second time around. This pained him the most, and the fury of it was almost overwhelming. Somehow, he had ended up on the floor, and he spent his head against the best post, moonlight washed over him, and a cold chill screaming through his body.  
He stared up at the ceiling, every vein in his neck budging like tree branches, and he cursed the heavens, high and low. He cursed Hell low and high. He bellowed out, the pain still burning, and the memories rolled and rolled, like one of those old films, and he culd not stop them, hard as he tried. But did her truly want them to stop? Did he want to stop seeing Alec laugh, Alec smile, Alec fight, Alec shout, Alec—Alec—Alec! Every though that welled through his head, rushing and crashing into a wall like trains.  
He rocked, unable to stop, no pain like this could ver be matched to anything he had felt before. Even death could not compare. WHne he had lain on the shore of Lake Lyn, and revived, the pain of death was nothing but a feather to this! Excruciating, this was! Mortifying, this was!

In the next few rooms over, Isabelle cried herself, rocking under her silk sheets, hiding from the moonlight and listening to the soundtrack of Jace's screams. Tears flooded down her own face. She wondered now, why was it always in the dark where no one could see you that they fled to ide, and cry, kick and scream? Why was it in the darkness that it was so okay to hide? Why was it that here, in the private they decide to mourn those who had died? Why was it now that you began to relay the past, instead of look to the future? Why had the angels been so unmerciful and given them so many sleepless nights, and so many restless hours?  
It was all too much, like Atlas and the weight of the world on their shoulders, but you see, Isabelle was not Atlas. The weight crushed her.  
She screamed into her pillow, and she found that she too cursed the angels, cursed the heaven, the sky, and night. Isabelle flipped over to her back and clutched the covers—the mattress, the sheets, anything she could grab—and she screamed out to the world. Her tears took new direction, and they soaked her cheeks and she moaned mournfully. She sobbed and slapped her hands to her face.  
Why was she feeling this now? Had she been this numb, this nullified like being struck by lightning? She didn't understand, it was all hitting her full force now, and she could not stop the emotions from flooding out through her eyes, nose, and mouth.  
"A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-ALEC!" She screamed into the night, clutching the covers around her, her back arched under her as she screamed, as though she were being exorcised.

Maryse Lightwood listened to the screams of her children above her, and she was biting and swallowing back tears that were fighting to come up. She clutched Robert next to her, yet she still held the tears back. Why was the torturing herself like this? Why was she holding back, why did she do this? Didn't she have the right as a mother? As the one who had bore the lost soul for nine months, who had created him, who had raised him and trained him? Didn't she have that right? Didn't she?  
And she did. And she took her right. She bawled into husband's chest. He bawled with her, though, less audibly.

Magnus Bane sat criss-cross on his bed on the bottom floor of the Institute. In his lap Chairman Meow purred. Church was at his feet. He was petting Chairman unconsciously, and maybe just a little too rough. His room was quiet, the clock ticked in the corner, and the low hum of the air conditioning was all that reached his ears. But he felt it.  
He felt the screams of the Lightwoods. The torture that they were enduring, and he could not ignore it. It was too strong, but he didn't think that he had anymore tears to spare. He had spared many while ignorantly burning down his apartment complex, maybe all of them.  
He was staring at himself in the mirror. It was cracked down the middle, and several parts went off into the right. At the foot of the mirror, there were the shattered pieces of a wine glass, and the dark pieces of a wineglass, like rubies. He stared at the shattered pieces, and then at himself. The shattered picture of himself. He hadn't worn his hair down in over a century, but now, it hung all the way down to the lower part of his back. A log long hung in front of his face, and his cat eyes glowed. He wore Alec's jacket, not his favorite—he had been wearing that when he plunged into the fiery river—over a yellow shirt and purple pajama bottoms. It was probably the most normal attire Magnus had worn in his time this century.  
Magnus had loved many souls in his lifetime, he had loved too many people to truly count, or maybe he had kissed too many people to count, but could he truly say that he loved many? He could go all the way back to his swaggering days of the 1800's, or his flamboyant nights in the 1900's. He could dance back to the time in the 1760's, or the extravagant 1680's. But how many people had he loved? Loved like Alec? Loved so much that…dare…dare he say, _die _for?  
He could have jumped in after him…he could have saved him…Alec could have still been alive if he had done something. He had the power to, too. He could have just opened a portal…  
He stopped thinking about it. If he had learned anything in all his years of love—he continuously asked himself, could he really all it love?—it was not to blame yourself for the death of your loved one.  
But how could you not? How could you not when you knew you could have done something? How could you know when you knew that you had to the power to change everything, with just one action?  
Magnus could have sworn he heard Chairman say, "I don't know." He smiled at the cat, a stringy tear making its way down his face. He picked Chairman up and nuzzled him before replying.  
"My exact words."


	3. The Demon's Call

**2**

**The Demon's Call**

* * *

The city glittered in the night, the lights brighter than the stars themselves, and the glow off into the horizon seemed to dim out the moon. It inspired Clary, truly, and she wished that had been carrying her drawing pad. Though, in the month's prior, her drawing pad had been the last place she had visited. Was it possible to be too busy to do that which you loved? Could she consider 'Jace' being busy? She thought she could, though there was also Shadowhunter Training and school—even though when she had been at school, she had only been half there, and half ready to pounce at her teacher when she finally revealed herself as a demon. It never happened, but you had to dream right?  
"How is Jace handling?" Luke asked when they came to a light. Clary was taken by surprise and she turned to Luke, and shrugged.  
"Better, he's talking to me again, so that's a good thing." Luke nodded, and Clary gave a small smile.  
"Luke you don't have to talk about this if it's awkward for you, I'm fine. We're trying to learn more about Alec's death." Luke didn't say anything at first, but Clary saw that he wanted to say something on his face.  
He looked at her, and then nodded, obviously holding something back. "Just…Just don't start any wars." Clary smiled broadly.  
"I bet you're never thought you'd be saying that to me, did you?" They both broke into laughs, and instantly, Clary forgot that Luke had been holding something back when he said that.

There was a knock at the door, a hard knock that shook Jocelyn. She scrawled something else on the venue rental form, and hurried to the door. The knock was going on again.  
"I'm coming!" She shouted.  
"Well come faster!" The voice said. Joceyln knew the voice was familiar, and when she opened the door, she opened it to Amatis Greymark. She was wearing a black hoodie, jeans, and her grey streaked brown hair hung over her shoulders.  
"We need to talk." She said, and Jocelyn was instantly taken aback as Amatis let herself in.  
"What about?" Jocelyn asked as she closed her door. "You must have a good reason for coming here in the middle of the night." Amatis had made herself at home and she was pouring a glace of apple juice. "Could you please stop acting like this is your house, and tell me why you're here?" Jocelyn snapped, snatching the glass of apple juice from her hands.  
Amatis sighed and threw off her hood, running her fingers through her hair. She was obviously stressed, and tired, and it wasn't until Jocelyn turned the kitchen light on that she saw the heavy bags under Amatis's eyes.  
"We've found something—about Valentines son." Jocelyn sucked in a breath, and she gripped the counter behind her, digging her nails into the wood.  
"Valentine's?" she said breathlessly. Amatis nodded, taking back the apple juice and taking a long swallow.

"How long has been there? And how do you even know he's still there?" They were sitting at the kitchen table. It was cluttered with applications, invitation ideas, photos of other weddings, and fabrics, not to mention the abundance of plastic flowers.  
"He's been there since about two weeks after the battle at Idris, where he was before then, we don't know, but we think we might have an idea. Even so, his business in Dion is something that we cannot fathom." Jocelyn rose and eyebrow, looking much like her daughter as she did so.  
"What is he doing? Raising demons?" Amatis gave her a grave look.  
"Babies. Demon babies, Jocelyn." Jocelyn gasped, putting her hands over her mouth.  
She could not speak, she could only mouth, "how."  
"We think they are the straight spawns of demons from humans, we're not sure how though, and we think our theory is wrong. Moreover, we think that the babies were created straight from darkness itself."  
"As in…darkness as an object?" Amatis nodded. "How is that possible? Darkness…is…is…"  
"Exactly. It is something that no Shadowhunter has ever conceited before, never have we thought of darkness as an object, only as it being there, being a side, being the shadows and the eves. Yes, it seems that your son—"  
Jocelyn jabbed a finger at Amatis, "That _thing _is not my son. I may have borne him, but I will never call myself his mother, it is a mockery to both me, Clary, and Shadowhunter kind." Amatis frowned at Jocelyn.  
"You cannot ignore it Jocelyn, blood is blood, no matter how much you try to ignore it. Not matter if you wanted to conceit the demon spawn who threatens us now, or not, he is still your son. Your blood." They stared at each other, Amatis holding a hard look at Jocelyn.  
"Fine." Jocelyn looked away. "What else is there?"  
"Well, it seems that Jonathan is not our only problem. There's something running through dimensions, and I say something, but I'm more than sure it's not a person."  
"And what is it doing?" Amatis took another sip from her apple juice.  
"Creating Rifts, its opening portals where portals shouldn't be, and demons are clashing against demons. Not to mention that the mundanes are starting to notice that something is up as well. It was supposed to be sunny these past four days, but's rained. Fourteen people have disappeared in the last two days alone, and not to mention the three dead girls in Central Park." Jocelyn was on her feet in an instant.  
"Three dead girls?" Amatis nodded. "But, wouldn't it have been on the News, or wouldn't we at least get a warning from the Clave about this?"  
"The Clave has gone silent, and no one knows why. They've kept their mouths shut since Halloween. It may have something to do with the Attack in Rieth."  
"Why is this all news to me? How come no one has told me about this?" Suddenly, fury was boiling up inside of her, and she wanted to scream at Amatis, at all the Shadowhunters.  
"Because, no one knows about it except me, Luke, and Maryse."  
"Luke?" Jocelyn breathed. She couldn't believe that Luke, of all people, was keeping something from her. Slowly, she began to realize things. "Is that why he isn't here in the middle of the night? Is that why the truck is always gone?" Amatis had taken to her feet, and she was standing her ground as Jocelyn was like a vulture as she advanced towards Amatis, her face dark with shadows, and fire in her eyes.  
Amatis stood, unable to say anything. What excuse did she have, truly? Jocelyn suddenly stepped out of Amatis's way.  
"Leave. Get out of my house." She snarled. Amatis gawked at her.  
"What do you mean? You're just going to kick me out after I've just told you something that could change the next war?"  
"So there's going to be a war now also. Interesting, anything else you'd like to tell me before you take your leave?" Jocelyn's voice was full of intensity, her hair seemed to flare with the very same acrimony.  
"Jocelyn, you have to understand, we've been following this for a while, and we were going to tell you when we were for sure of everything. We didn't want to jump into anything unless we were sure." Jocelyn waved her hand and gave an unconvinced face to Amatis.  
"And that makes up for you and my fiancé keeping this from me? Get out now, Amatis Greymark." Jocelyn pointed to the door. Amatis looked Jocelyn up and down and then started fr the door. When she had reached the door she threw her hood on and spoke as she came out.  
"We're going to Dion again tonight, if you want to be part of the loop, then leave at ten, Luke will know." And with that, she left. Jocelyn stood there staring at the closed door, and then swallowed her anger. Luke and Clary would be home soon.

The street was narrow, and the buildings all around were all nearly arm's length apart. There were few, dim lights flicking every now and again, checkpoints in the dark. Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern didn't mind though. No, he was just fine walking through the darkness, he'd rather that no one knew of his business here tonight. The darkness was truly the best place to hide, if not the only place to hide, far better than in the light where people could easy see through your façade.  
The bakery was just a few more yards away, and its lantern was blown out, smoke still rose from it in a spiral. Far, far above, the stars were dim as the flames down here on earth, and the moon was nonexistent. The night sky was a black sea, full of more shadows than stars. Sebastian was his own star, a dark star if you will, and in his own mind, he shined brighter than the others. That was the reason he didn't die, ti was the reason why he lived. He snorted.  
He was the boy who lived. How comical.  
He stopped at the bakery door, and gave a curt, three beat knock. At first there was no sound except for the sound of creaking wood, and the low tuned whistle of wind. Then, the door swung open, and a woman with black skin and red hair opened it. Her eyes were blue was the real sky, and just as bright.  
"Morgenstern, welcome." She said and stepped out of the way to let Sebastian in. The entryway was dark as the night outside, and just as quiet. There were four lanterns around the room, all of them up out. Sebastian produced a witchlight from his pocket, made it dim, and turned to the black skinned demon. She smiled at Sebastian and took him by the wrist. Sebastian quickly pulled his hand away.  
"My father taught me how to deal with hooker demons like you, and he told me not to touch you. So I intend to do just that. I like being part demon, but being full is just so unoriginal. Lead me." The demon flipped her hair, and started down the long wooden hall towards the apartment are of the bakery.  
The walls were made of degrading stone, vines curled out of them, and faded pictures of the hills of Idris were painted on them. They brought back memories.  
At the end of the hall, there was a small area with a small congregation of demons. Sebastian could barely tell the difference between which was a male and which was a female, if there was even a difference here. Three of them had pent each other against the wall, naked, and their touches wrapped around each other's throats. Their hair was tangled together, and their breasts and cunt's were in all the wrong places. It was one of the things that sent chills up Sebastian's spine, demon sex. It was an incredibly vile event.  
Another group of them, Sebastian presumed them to be male demons, were sucking at each other like an Ouroboros. One of their heads was in the others throat. The other demon seemed to have two heads, eating his significant others feet. Yet another couple were on the ceiling sucking each other's brains out through their noses, which made Sebastian's stomach clench. There were a few demons who were simply playing with themselves, others were scratching and licking the walls.  
They began up a flight of stairs, not without having to shuffle past several demons snogging each other, and biting on each other's nipples. Sebastian had always though that mundane's were the most disgusting creatures of all, but after spending several months in Dion, he had learned that there was no more digesting than the demons of their Capital dimension. He shuttered.  
At the top of the stairs there was a set of two doors, both grimy, scratched, and cracked, the only significant different were their colors. One was red, the other was green. That reminded him that back in the mundane world, Christmas was near. How lovely.  
"That one," the demon girl said and pointed to the green door.  
"Why not the red?" He asked with a smirk. The demon girl grinned back at him.  
"Because, there is nothing behind the red door." Sure there wasn't. Sebastian didn't say anything else, and went to the green door. The knob turned easy, and when he entered, he was greeted by the pleasant smell of cakes, sweets, and lavish drinks. The floor and walls were covered with an assortment of things. There were large clumps of sugar, stuck between the floorboards, glutinous bulbs of dough drooping from the corners of the walls. The wallpaper the fancy paneled kind with the flowers on it, it was peeling, and in between the peels there were large splatters of what liked to be blood. Of course, it could always be cherry paste. Sebastian preferred the former.  
The floor was also littered with what looked to be burned cakes and broken candies. There were clumps of hair with sugar and dough trapped in them, which made Sebastian wonder how it came to be there. When he entered the main area—full of iron chairs, iron tables, and glass tops—he found it was much worse. There were several demons, shadows, and small creatures running about, loving on the tables, and feasting upon cakes. Those cakes were in fact, blood cakes. They had been infused with blood, and Sebastian's skin crawled as he saw a large demon rip one open, and the blood pour onto the table. The demon ate happily.  
There were large steam machines running in the corners and along the walls, giving the room a nice layer of smoke, though it was suffocating to breathe such gasoline filled air.  
He made his way forward, shoving away whatever demon came his way, and made his way up the stone steps into the café area, where shattered cups, glass, and assorted items were strewn across the floor and decorated the corners of the area. Demons were much quieter in this part, but nonetheless horny. In fact, one of the demons had two long ones coming out of his head, bouncing against his head. Sebastian quickly looked away.  
There was one demon, a girl, sitting on a table. She actually looked more human than demon, making her much more approachable. She had long black hair—so long, it touched the floor—and her skin looked to be a brown or green color. She opened her eyes, which were white as the steam that fumed from the machines in the main area.  
"Morgenstern," she said, her voice resonating. Sebastian stared at her, and she was suddenly floating a few inches off the table. "Morgenstern."  
"Is that all you can say? If so, can you at least point me to the baker witch?" Several things happened at once: The demon's moth ripped open around her head, and what looked to be nineteen black, whip like tongues shot out of her mouth and back. Sebastian dashed out the way, and shouted out, "_Isrtiph_," and effulgent crimson flames danced next to him, materializing into a sword in his hands. He shoulder rolled into a table, which he threw at the tongues. They smashed right through the table, sending glass and iron raining down around them. The tongues continued for him.  
"_Infernus_!" He shouted, and the blade was set ablaze. He sprinted across the café, flipping another table. The tongues crashed through again, but now Sebastian swung his blade, slashing the tongues nearest ot him clean in half.  
"_Seraph_!" A seraph blade materialized in his hand with blinding light, and he stepped left, and spun around sending the blade at the demon. "_Barachiel_!" An explosion of cerulean lighting broke through the room, and the sound of thunder clapping met his ears. The seraph blade planted itself clean in the demons throat. Lighting was conjured, and crashed into the creature. It screamed, its tongues whipping back into its throat. Sebastian stared at the phenomenon, his blade still sending heat to his skin, and shadows across his face.  
The lighting zipped and whipped around the demon, her hair whipping in every direction around her head. Her skin had become white as paper, and her eyes were black as the night sky. The thunder and lightning boomed, a small storm around her, but she didn't seem to be weakening, rather she was in withering pain. Sebastian had heard enough of her cowering, and he sprinted towards her, leapt, and brought his sword up over his head and sent it clean down the center of her body. She screamed, and something like glass shattering shot through the room.  
Shimmering golden ichor coated Sebastian from head to toe, and he was blasted backwards, down the stairs, and into a table. His sword skittering away from him, and just as quickly dissipating into the same red flames it had been called in. Around him, the demons had gone, those who had stayed were several feet away from Sebastian.  
He groaned, as he looked up, and saw the golden ichor splattered against everything, and then the faint burning sensation began to pass through his body. He quickly began to wipe it away with his shirt, which by the time he was done, was nothing more than a smoldering pile of ash.  
He stood, shirtless and pale as ever in the dim light, and started up the steps again. The seraph blade had thrown at the demon was nothing but a chip of metal now, and he picked it up, and swore as he dropped it. It was hot to the touch.  
The long black tongues of the demon were still there, blazing in their own ichor. Sebastian shook his head and started for the wall, running his hand along it trying to find a hidden door of some sort. As he did this, there was suddenly a faint whispering, one that at first he could not make out. Slowly it began to shape a word in his ears and he stopped moving.  
"_Morgenstern…Morgenstern…Morgenstern…Morgenstern_." He slowly turned around, and there on the table, the long tongues were spinning together, forming a cocoon the shape of a woman—the very same woman demon he had just killed and made nonexistent.  
"What the hell?" He whispered to himself, as the tongues wrapped around themselves one final time. Then within three seconds, they split and revealed the demon woman again. "_Morgenstern_." And before Sebastian's eyes, her moth ripped open again. He was too shocked to do anything, and before he knew it, the tongues latched onto his head, ran through his hair, and plunged into his the corners of this eyes and into his mouth and nostrils.

_Sebastian stood in the middle of a large field, it was night, and the moon was out. The world was cold, and when he looked down he saw the grass was frozen solid. When he looked up, across a dirt road, there was Lake Lyn, frozen and black, and on its shore was the Morgenstern Manor. He gasped, unable to truly believe it.  
The very Manor he had grown up in, the place where he had become what he is today. The vicious demon that was truly a conqueror. A ruler. He jumped at the sound of a caw. He whirled around and there, coming at him was a large black falcon, with the same white eyes as the demon who had entrapped him. He didn't know what do, and suddenly he acted out instinct.  
_"Seraph!" _But no seraph blade appeared in his palm. The falcon grew closer, and closer. He started running, unable to do anything. Once again he tried to summon a weapon, but none came. He looked over his shoulder, and the Falcon had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and he was being lifted into the sky.  
In the sky, words began to form, words and runes. But, these were runes he had never seen before, runes never imagined.  
_"They have been imagined, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, but they are hidden away in the darkest mind, for you never to find." _The voice was clearly that of the demon woman.  
_"What do you want?" _Sebastian shouted.  
_"Free my master—free me—free my master—free me—free my master. Help us—Help me—help us—help me—help us."  
"Why do you need me to do it, I have my own priorities!" _Suddenly he was falling, and his stomach dropped, when he looked down he was plummeting right towards the frozen Lake Lyn. He gasped, and tried to face the sky, but his body would not listen to him, and within seconds, he was falling through water in slow motion. There was a faint light at the bottom of the lake, and the voice still resonated within his ears.  
_"We know what you seek—I know what you seek—we know what you seek—I know what you seek. We can give you power, we can give you an army, we can help you attain your goal. Help us, free us, save us. We can resurrect that which has been lost. Help us." _Sebastian was confused, and suddenly, flames danced around him, heat and fire brandished him. He didn't scream, for there was no pain, and when he stopped falling he rolled over and looked up. There was a tall, black figure in the flames, its full body could not be seen, but it was obviously naked, and a large snake was running from in between its legs and up its body between its breasts.  
_"What are you?" _There was a rocky sound like laughing.  
_"Now what, who."

Sebastian felt as though he had been thrown against the wall behind him. He gasped, and spit out a large clump of blood. The tendrils that had wrapped around his head released him, slithering back to their owner. The demon girl's mouth stitched itself back together, the skin plain as ever as though it had not been ripped. Her lips were closed.  
Sebastian stared at her, and she stared at him. The next moment, there was a whip like sound and an incandescent red flash.  
The girl was gone.


	4. Offers, Dealings, and Reunions

**3**  
** Offers, Dealings, and Reunions**

* * *

Jocelyn and Luke woke up at the very same time, both slipped out of bed, and just then did they realize their significant other was also awake. Jocelyn was the first to speak.  
"I'm coming with you tonight." Luke turned to her.  
"Jocelyn, how do you know—"  
"Amatis came over earlier, and she told me what you all have been doing." Luke swallowed and bit his lip. He didn't have his glasses on, but he could see just as fine.  
"J, I was—"  
"No—no you weren't, because if you were you would have told me from the beginning." Jocelyn said bitterly, fending off tears that were creeping at the side of her eyes. She hurried out the room, and into the bathroom to wash up. She slammed the door behind her.  
Luke stood in the faint moonlight of the night. There were clouds rolling in, and they signaled more false storms. He sighed, and walked out to the balcony, leaning over it to see Amatis climbed up the balcony column, and swung herself over the railing. Luke didn't turn to her. She sighed.  
"She didn't take it well I presume?" Luke shook his head. Amatis put her hands on her hips and nodded. "Don't worry, I'm sure she'll forgive you." Amatis said as she patted her brother on the shoulder.  
Luke was shaking his head though. "No she won't. She's right you know. We shouldn't have kept it from her, she had every right to know. Especially since I'm her husband." Amatis pursed her lips.  
"Luke, was it you who told me that she was the one trying to stay as far as possible from this world anyways?" Luke closed his eyes, and a hard look crossed his face.  
"Yes," he breathed. "I…I don't know, Amatis. She probably doesn't even trust me anymore." Amatis stood behind him, with her lips pressed together. Luke sighed and brushed his hand through his hair, and walked back into the bedroom, the cold night air stalking in behind him.

After Luke had wrapped himself in the proper clothing—padding under jeans, a black t-shirt, and hunting boots—the three stood outside just a few yards away from Luke's truck. The night was far from quiet. Owls hooted in the trees, and the eternal honks from cars on the streets reached their eardrums. The wind blew quietly, sending the leaves rustling, and the clouds sailing over the moon.  
The three of them stood at a tall, thin tree. Jocelyn stood behind Luke and Amatis. Luke hadn't attempted to make amends with Jocelyn, and she was just fine with that—he'd already done enough damage, and she could only imagine that his attempt to make amends would only create more fires on the bridge.  
Amatis stepped forward, and pulled her stele from her pocket. At the very moment that she touched the tip to the tree's bark, green light blazed in the night sending budges flying, and wind whirled around them, turning into their own miniature storm. Amatis traced the blazing green rune, and as she traced it grew bright, slowly turning blue. She stepped back with the completion of the rune, and Jocelyn stood gawking—her hair whirling around hair, and her heart close to stopping with shock—as the tree split in half, effulgent golden light hit them and the wind that spun around them in a rapid funnel.  
"I can't believe it…it's…it's a real portal." Jocelyn said. Luke turned back to her and shook his head.  
"No, it's a dangerous, artificial version that could get us all jailed if the Clave found out about it." Luke shouted over the wind.  
"Are you ready?" Amatis shouted as she looked back at them. Shadow danced on her face, and her hair looked like a black flag in the light.  
"Ready!" Luke and Jocelyn shouted at once. Amatis turned back towards the Portal, and she took three steps back.  
"On three we all jump at once!" Jocelyn and Luke met eyes, and Luke held out his hand. Jocelyn stared at it, and then took it up in her own.  
"Do you forgive me?" Luke asked in a soft, but audible voice. Jocelyn didn't answer, and Luke frowned, looking away. Amatis had already started counting.  
"…Two…THREE!" And at once, all three of them sprinted forward into the light.  
Behind them, the night went dark, the tree snapping back together down the middle, and the rune slowly dying back to darkness.  
The Portal spat them out into the cold darkness of the Iron Fields. The golden light burned out behind them. Jocelyn looked back where it had been, and swallowed hard. She didn't see any trees.  
"How are we going to get back?" She asked as Luke helped her to her feet.  
"Don't worry, there's a Warlock here who's on our side." Jocelyn still didn't like that. All of a sudden, she wasn't sure she should have come along with them. Ahead, across the Iron Fields, there looked to be a dark settlement—there were no lights as far as Jocelyn could see. She pressed her lips into a line, and she and Luke began after Amatis who was already several yards ahead of them. Jocelyn had just then realized they had not brought a witchlight with them.

Simon walked along the sidewalk, the streetlights sending small splashes of yellow onto the street ahead of him. The night air did not affect him, his jacket was tight against him, and tried to look as human as possible. He checked his phone—he was 9:34. He didn't have any reason to be going home this late, but he didn't feel like staying with Eric tonight, nor did he feel like hearing his long speech on why the band's name should be the Electric Cosmic Turtles.  
He sighed, his apartment was still a little ways away, and he was eager to turn on his anime and flop down on the couch with a small bag of blood for him to suck on.  
For a long while, it was only his footsteps that accompanied him down the sidewalk, then there was a slight rustle, like chainmail. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. There was no one there. He stood still for a moment longer, then began walking again, this time with a little speed in his step.  
The metal sound was there again, and he walked a little faster, and the metal sound walked with him. He whirled around, and standing in the shadows was a tall man in black armor. Simon turned all the way around and stared.  
Out of the shadows came Meliorn. His onyx colored hair shined in the faint streetlight, and his emerald eyes were dark. "I know you." Simon said giving a small point to Meliorn. He was not amused.  
At Meliorn's side was his sword, and his right hand rested on its hilt, ready to be unsheathed at any moment, but something told Simon that Meliorn wouldn't dare touch him. He saw the Mark. "M'lady requests you." Meliorn said coldly.  
"Me? At this time of night? In this weather?" Meliorn took a step forward, and Simon instantly closed his mouth for any more remarks.  
"Come or give me a message, I am not in the mood for games Daylighter." He snarled.  
"Fine, fine—send her a message." Meliorn observed Simon, his eyes seeming to stab right through him.  
"The Queen says it is an urgent matter."  
"Yeah, well, tell her it's an urgent matter that I need to get home and watch School Days, it's almost over and I refuse to miss another episode." Meliorn looked as though he might unsheathe his sword yet.  
"I told you I am in no mood for games Daylighter, what is your message? Or must I take you by force." Meliorn's eyes glinted with anger, and Simon took a step back, holding up his hands in front of him.  
"Okay, okay, jeez, have a sense of humor; tell her that I just can't make it." A low growl resonated from Meliorn's chest.  
"Look Daylighter," he hissed through his teeth. "you're wasting my time, I have much better things to do than sit here and beg you to come take a seat with my Queen, now I will ask you again what is your message, or I _will _strike you with my sword. I do not fear your stupid Mark, you brandish it like an idiot and wear it like a badge of honor, but you are nothing more—"  
"Well, Meliorn, you don't have to be so unkind to our guest." A sweet voice said from the trees, and before Simon knew it, the world had shifted—the redbrick apartments morphing into walls of moss and vine, torches grew out of nowhere, brightening a room he had not been in moments before. Moreover, the concrete under his feet, transformed into dirt, stone, and grass. He gasped and actually stumbled, falling to his butt.  
Meliorn bowed to the Seelie Queen on her throne. "You're Highness."  
"That's enough Meliorn, come, next to me." The Seelie Queen said as she took a plentiful bite out of what looked to be a golden apple of sorts. Meliorn took to his feet again, and strode over to the Queen. Simon swallowed and stared paralyzed at the Queen.  
"H-How did I get here? I-I thought—"  
"I get to bend the rules, it's not really important, there is a lot of rule bending nowadays, so why not join in on the fun?" The Queen laughed and took another gracious bite out of her apple, juice running down her fingers like blood. That made Simon's stomach growl faintly and he began thinking about the mini-fridge stacked wall to wall with packages of blood. His stomach clenched with hunger, and he felt his fangs beginning to slip…  
"What is it that you want?" Simon said bitterly.  
"I want you to help me Simon, I think that you are going to like what I have to offer you." She smiled, a gleaming pearly smile.  
"I don't know what you could give me, I already have everything I want—immortality, they girl of my dreams, _and _I can turn into a bat and fly. I don't think that there is much more a vampire boy could ask for."  
"Really?" The Seelie Queen chuckled delightedly; another bite into her apple. "So, you are going to enjoy seeing everyone you love fade away—I think that you have been around the Shadowhunters long enough to know that they will not live forever, may the Gods that be forbid—and you are going to enjoy it when the world has moved on around you as you suffocate in your own grief? Is that what you want Simon? Maybe you should talk to the High Warlock Magnus Bane, ask him how he bears it. Then again, Bane is a whole other situation, you one the other hand were once human. You understand what it means to lose those you love, you understand what it is like to be rejected, and to fade into the crowd as nothing more than an invisible bystander. Why, you are still that way now. Sure you boast about your powers and you are less afraid to go beyond your front door because you no longer have to wear your outrageous spectacles. But, Simon, wouldn't you really want everything to jjust go back to normal? Wouldn't you just love for you to be able to finally have Clary?"  
This shook Simon, and he was taken aback. He swallowed and shook his head furiously at the Queen. "No, I—I'm fine the way I am, and I don't need you to try and lure me to do your dirty work." The Queen gave a small laugh, and so did the other fairies around her. Meliorn was the only one who stood still as glass next to the Queen—his hand always on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes always on Simon.  
"I assure you, our work is not dirty. For we are the fey, the fair folk—we are the fairest, and _cleanest_, as you might put it, of the Downworlders. Surely, you have witnessed the horrible New York Vampires, and surely you know how dastardly those Werewolves are, making a big mess of things and leaving this horrid scent of wet dog," another laugh throughout the court. "and I won't get into Warlocks, they have a long and lively history of the work they do…for others, which makes them _just _as dirty as any other. Why, Simon, we are the only Downworlders who have stayed pure throughout the centuries."  
"Yet you live in the dirt." Simon remarked.  
"Why, we live in the purest dirt. The earth is all that is left pure, after the filthy Downworlders tainted its surface with their impurities, and their scum and trash. It's just horrible really." The Queen took yet another bite out of her apple. Simon began to theorize that the apple replenished itself with every bite, otherwise, she should have been done with it by now. She was taking enormous bites out of.  
"Look, I don't want what you're offering, can you please, just, like, morph this place back to my street? Or even better, my living room." Simon pulled out his phone, but just as quickly, it was slashed in half, sending small blue sparks, and Simon staggered back from where Meliorn stood.  
Meliorn didn't say anything, but Simon got the picture.  
"I haven't offered you anything yet."  
"Well, whatever it is I don't want it." The Queen didn't look agitated, but Simon could tell he had _royally _pissed her off.  
"Since you time is oh so precious, then I will leave you with this," she held out her hand, not taking her sapphire eyes off of Simon as her servant Kaelie brought her a scroll with a strange, black bind on it. "open this if you reconsider our meeting her tonight. This is my offer, once you open it, Meliorn will be notified of it and will fetch you. I will give you until the day after the Mundane's Christmas to decide whether you accept my offer." Simon didn't move to retrieve the letter, and the Seelie Queen handed it to Kaelie again who came farther and rested it in Simon's palm. She bowed, and hurried back to her side of the Queens Throne couch.  
"Are we done here?" Simon asked as he shoved the scroll into his back pocket.  
"Yes, I assume you will not need an escort home." Meliorn and Simon seemed to both agree that there would be nothing of the sort. Simon shook his head.  
"Good." Were the Queen's last words before the Seelie Court dissolved around him, and he stood in front of his apartment. He sighed.  
"Been a long day." And mounted the stairs, and clamored into his dark house.

The wall suddenly opened behind him, and Sebastian was startled out of his gaze. He turned to find standing in the doorway of her kitchen was the witch he had been seeking. She was a short witch, round and wrinkled. Her eyes were red like rubies, and her hair was the same hue of crimson. Atop her head was a fat, sugar, blood, and dough covered toque, at its center there was a crusty eye, the same red color as the witches own.  
She smiled, her teeth sharp as nails. "You seek me." The witch's voice was stone on stone, and Sebastian could only stare at her. _This _was the one he seek-ed. He sighed, and nodded.  
"Yes." The witch chuckled, an unpleasant, cacophonous sound, much like her voice. "Come into my kitchen, we have sweets for you to taste." She laughed and hurried back into her dark kitchen. Sebastian, as he followed behind her, he found that her feet were crow feet. He swallowed, and entered. The wall fell back into place behind him, and the only light came from the center of the room where a red fire blazed hot. Around it there were long veins of black like roots that crawled out from the flames. The kitchen was covered in the same smut that covered the outside, only on a whole other level.  
What caught Sebastian as he grew closer to the fire was the intense and harrowing smell of burned sugar—sugar that had been burning for centuries. The witch was jingling through her drawers, and sending small objects flying out of them. These small objects consisted of nails, teeth, fingers, and other body parts. Sebastian suddenly began to think about Hansel and Gretel and the witch in the forest. Could this be the witch that the tale had originated from? He wouldn't be surprised if the brothers Grimm had narrowly escaped from here were inspired to write their stories.  
He found a stale pretzel chair—at least he thought it was a pretzel—and seated himself in front of the fire. Suddenly, something scurried behind him and he was quick enough to get a glance at something that looked like a mix between a star nosed mole and a bat. It hissed at him, and slipped into a hole under a cabinet. He turned back to the fire, and clutched the bottom of his seat to find the witch standing in front of him with a dough covered spoon.  
He swore, and the witch cackled as she wagged her spoon at him. "I got you good didn't I child?"  
"Sure," Sebastian said as the witch pulled up her own chair, or rather summoned it from a far corner of the room. It was an large chair made of what looked to be bones and rusted swords. She dug her claws into its arms and smiled all teeth at him.  
"Now, what have you come here for child? There is much to bake, and so little time to bake it. Do you have a gift for me? A child perhaps, a baby? I would like to try something new in my stu and sticky buns." She cackled again, throwing her head back.  
"No, I have to come to ask for, er, assistance with a summoning. I was directed here by the Warlock Nikkis." The witch rose her eyebrows, sucked on her spoon for a moment before speakinhg; when she pulled the spoon from her mouth, thee were bite marks in the wood.  
"Nikkis…I haven't heard the name in over a century, a terrible pest he is. Calling me up whenever he needed to open so much as a jar ah' pickles. _Hehehe_." the witch laughed. "such a horrible little Warlock he was. What made you go to him in the first place? Why not one of the other Warlocks, like Magnus Bane in New York, or Ragnor Fell?"  
"Ragnor Fell is dead, and I do not associate with anyone who deals in the Shadowhunters of New York. In fact, when my plan goes into action, they are the first that I plan to eliminate." The little crimson eyed witch's ears seemed to perk up at the news. I fact, Sebastian noticed that the witches ears looked to have been bitten on and worn away.  
"The Shadowhunters? Aren't you one yourself?" She sucked on her spoon again, making a grotesque noise with it.  
"No, I am of my own kind. And soon, many others will be like me. The Shadowhunters have caused nothing but pain on my family, and they need to be eliminated. Or replaced rather."  
"And tell me, what is it about the Shadowhunters that makes you detest them so?" Again, the spoon was in between her lips."  
"That information isn't for your ears, are going to help me with the summoning or not?" The witch grinned again, her face pulling back like it was made of latex. It was a horrible sight.  
"Oh I think it is child, why, if I do help you with the summoning, I need to know who your name?" She made a cracking noise with her throat, and Sebastian soon realized it was another tone of her hideous laugh.  
"And if you don't help me?" He snapped at her. She snapped her spoon in the direction of the wall behind them.  
"Then you can leave my kitchen, or maybe I could cut you up—"  
"There will be none of that." Sebastian snapped at the little witch.  
"Then," she slapped the spoon on his check. It was cold and wet with her spit. "What is your name?" The eye on her toque slowly started to glow, and Sebastian was about to summon his sword, but an overwhelming force brushed over his brain, and all thoughts of hurting the little witch dissolved from his mind; his muscles went limp, and his mind was set free like an open bank vault.  
"Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, son of Valentine and Jocelyn Morgenstern, brother of Clarissa Adele Fray." The witch pulled her spoon away and Sebastian fell to the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees.  
"You bloody bitch." He snarled at her, and the witch kicked her legs and laughed out. She waved her wooden spoon at him.  
"Oh, don't be so rude to me boy, I'm helping you for Satan's sake." She made the cracking noise in her name again, and her spoon pointed to him once more. She pulled it upward and he slowly got to his feet and sat back down on his stool. He clutched its seat tightly as he tried to stay balanced.  
"I swear I will kill you the next time you do that you little—"  
"Hush up not boy, and speak not cold to me, tell me what demon you wish to summon?" She gripped the neck of the spoon tightly, her claws digging into the spoon. She sat up straight in her chair, and it reminded Sebastian of a little girl waiting to hear a story by firelight.  
"I wish to summon Charon, the boatman of the River Styx." The witch's smile disappeared just as quickly as it has appeared on her face. She racked her fingers on the spoon's neck, and incredulousness flooded her red eyes.  
"Charon…I cannot help you with that." She whispered. "I am a witch who summons demons in the Upper Realms, not those in the Circles. You have come to the wrong place, Jonathan Morgenstern. Your place to find Charon lies in Hell itself. One would have to die to meet Charon, for there are far too many dealings with souls for him to be bothered with such insignificant dealings as yours." Her voice was grim, and her lips moved a rapid pace like the flickering fire itself.  
"Can you at least try? I can pay you in whatever you desire, I pay whatever it takes." Sebastian inquired.  
"Even your own life?" The witch asked, shadows cast over her face, only her eyes glowing in the darkness rising. The fire was dying, as though it were her own life.  
"No, but I would be able to pay—an eye for an eye as the old saying goes."  
"That is for the dealings of bringing the dead back to life, not for calling upon Gods of Death."  
"Then why don't we do just that." Sebastian said with a saturnine grin crossing his face. "What if we did just that?" The flames jolted, blazing brighter than ever and sending a wave of frost across the room. The witch's eyes were suddenly illuminated with fiery delight, and she leaned in, her bitter-sweet smelling breath reached his face as she spoke.  
"Then we may do business."

Lucian Graymark rapped his fist on the oaken door.  
A slow wind blew through the dirt streets of the dark village. A door banged close and open, and slow creaks resonated through the streets. Jocelyn landed her eyes on the string of garlic that hung where a lantern should. In fact, a lantern had hung there, but if she had brung her eyes down to the ground, she would have seen it lying there, shattered and cold. The flame long dead.  
A lamb bah-ed somewhere, but the bah slowly turned into a strange growl that sent shivers up Jocelyn's spine. She looked over her shoulder, and jumped when she could have sworn something black shot past her vision. She looked in the direction it had gone and saw nothing. She swallowed and aced forward. She was just being paranoid, she had been in much worse situations, and seen much worse things than a shabby run down cottage. Though, she had never visited anything other Shadow Realms outside of Idris. She had never visited the actual realm of Dion. It was a place she had never planned on visiting, especially hunting down her rogue son.  
She was jolted out of thought by the sound of iron grating against rust, and found that the door had opened. She could not see who, for the room ahead was dark as the skies above them, which were nearly black.  
Upon entrance, she was hit with a small wave of warmth, and found that at the corner of the room there was an orange fire blazing, sending little bends of light across the room. In front of the fire, lying in a bundle of covers was a little boy, his hair messy limp.  
The person who opened the door revealed himself, and stepped in front of the trio.  
"Lucian, Amatis, you bring a friend." The voice was raspy, yet familiar. Jocelyn narrowed her eyes at the man, but with his back to the fire, it only cast more shadows across his seemingly disjointed face.  
"Yes, my wife, Jocelyn Fray." The man cocked his head to the side, his wavy hair wagging.  
"Jocelyn? Jocelyn Morgenstern you mean?" The man stepped between Amatis and Luke, the floorboards groaning under his weight. Jocelyn took a step back as the figure came to a certain light. She could see the half profile of his face. His cheeks had faded runes on them, and there was a terrible cut embedded on the hallow check. His eye was blue as the Portal rune they had used to get here. Slowly it came back to her.  
"Nicholas…Nicholas Trenn." It came out almost breathlessly. Nick smiled broadly.  
"You look darling as ever Jocelyn."

They sat on the floor, or at least Luke, Jocelyn, and Nick did. Amatis stood standing at the window, and looking out in the perpetual darkness.  
"It's been years, Jocelyn, it has been so many years. And it seems that you have changed quite a bit." Nick smirked at her with a sideways glance.  
"I haven't changed, I've merely given up a part of myself that I didn't want to look back on. Of course, you can never truly escape your past when you have children." Nick eyed her, and turned to the fire where she was staring.  
"I suppose not, though I would never understand as much, me being a Warlock and all." He laughed. "Why, I don't think I _want _to understand it. These few hundred years have been pretty peaceful, of course with a few battles here and there, but for the most part, life has been like a dream."  
"And what of the boy?" Jocelyn asked. Nick seemed to have forgotten about the boy sleeping on the floor, he was a few inches from Nick himself. Nick frowned.  
"Well…I guess he next few years won't be too peaceful." Jocelyn looked from the fire to Nick, both of them meeting eyes. "He's a boy I found, lost and disoriented at Lake Lyn one night while I was visiting Ragnor Fell. He didn't know where he was, who he was, or even what _I _was."  
"Well, no one can tell you apart from the rest of us, since none of your marks are exactly visible." Jocelyn said.  
"True. Anyhow, I intended to leave him, but believe it or not, I felt something from the child. I don't think the Clave would have known what to do with him, aside from throw him into some Institute, and something told me that that wasn't the life for this boy."  
"And this is?" Jocelyn implied.  
"Well, it's better than most Warlocks. I don't go around using my magic and helping Shadowhunters, I sit here in my little cottage in the demon realm, and I keep out of your dealings. If anything, I'm just a Portalist, creating Portals for Amatis and Luke when they need to come through, otherwise, we're fine here. It's always quiet this far out from the Fortress. In fact, there is a whole small community of rogue Shadowhunters and mellowed Foresaken living here."  
"Mellowed Forsaken?" Amatis was suddenly interested. She walked over to them and put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean.  
"I mean what I mean; Forsaken, though crazed, have enough sense to know not to kill and to act pretty normal. Of course, they shut and scream a few times, but nothing as bad as the Fortress. Demons flock there, sexing each other and starting fires, summoning Greater Demons and having a big orgy like party, it's all very horrifying in actuality."  
"Sounds fun." Jocelyn said, and they all laughed for a brief moment.  
"We should be heading to the Fortress now, anyways." Amatis said after the light moment was over.  
"Yes, we've lost time catching up." Luke as he got to his feet. Nick nodded, and helped Jocelyn to her feet before Luke could.  
"I understand, maybe you could swing by when you leave."  
"Definitely, though Luke and I should try and be back before Clary wakes up. She likes to ask questions." And Jocelyn regretted saying it as the words came out. She frowned at herself. How could she say such a thing? After nearly her entire life not now about a world that she was now involved with, a world that she helped save, she was going to keep holding things from her daughter. Then there was the whole Luke keeping things from her. Did she really want to make that same feeling pass through Clary? She shook her head, but didn't' voice what she had thought.  
Nick had weapons ready for them under the floorboards. Jocelyn took three seraph blades, a rune engraved sword, and a small dagger. Amatis took a double edged sword, daggers, and a seraph blade. Luke only took a long knife, and nothing more.  
"If we end up in a fight, I will just transform." Jocelyn didn't like the sound of it, but she nodded having faith that he would be able to fight with just teeth and claws.  
"It was good to see you again, Nick." Jocelyn said and hugged him as she left. Once they were out in the darkness again, and Nick's door shut, Luke instantly spoke.  
"How do you know him?" Jocelyn eyed him.  
"What are you? Jealous that he's going to take me from you?" Luke shook his head.  
"I thought I would have known about him…"  
"No, he's just a Warlock that directed me to Magnus when I was…clearing Clary's head every few years. He also helped me once while I was a Shadowhunter. It was along while ago." Luke stared at her for a while longer, before turned and forgetting about it. They walked on, the sounds of death and wood echoing out behind them.  
Also behind them, the same black shadow that Jocelyn had seen out of the corner of her eye began to follow them. It was a little boy.  
A little Forsaken boy.


	5. The Basics

**4**

**The Basics**

* * *

Magnus could not sleep. He didn't like to sleep anyways, it was such a bore, though it did pass the time well enough, he did not enjoy for the simple fact that he did not dream. Warlocks had lost that ability when they had been born Warlocks. He sighed, and sat up in his bed. He had thrown the covers to the floor, for they were much too hot in the blazing room. Or maybe the room wasn't hot at all and he was just stressed. He had pent his hair up in a ponytail, and he now undid it letting it fall flat on his back. He wondered what Alec would have thought of him with his hair down, long and shiny in the nighttime, the moon would have reflected off of it like silver.  
Magnus stared at his hands. He had forgotten to take off all the rings on his fingers, and there was still just a few tacked on them. But, only one on his ring finger. The engagement ring.  
He swallowed hard, and balled his hand into a fist, tightening it until it shook.  
"Dammnit Alec," he whispered to himself. "why couldn't have died after we tied the knot? Damn you." He swallowed tears that were coming to his eyes and opened his hand, shaking and red. He looked up at himself in the mirror above the dresser. He hadn't fought the tears hard enough, for they rested in long glinting streaks on either side of his face. He didn't wipe them away, rather he looked down at the engagement ring and slipped it off of his finger, holding it up to examine it.  
It was a fine ring, a Mundane ring, but still a ring. It was gold, rimmed with small black diamonds, running around it at the center were tiny sapphires. Encrypted between the black and the blue was Latin, ending in the rune for love. He stared at the ring for a long time, and then closed his hand around it again, clutching it tightly, and never wanting to let it go.  
He still remembered the day that Alec slipped it on his finger.

Magnus was sitting in his library, entertaining himself with a Victorian text, _Frankenstein_, and enlightening little tale. It made him laugh, in fact, to think about how true it was. It was much better, though, than the texts about when Mundanes try their hand at magic. Rather, this one just played god where he shouldn't have. Though, it did touch Magnus on some level. He had tried to play God himself, tried to do things that were much too much, even for him. Things he should have never done, never tried, and never have said.  
There was suddenly a knock, and Chairman Meow bolted from his hiding place and into another. Magnus rolled his eyes as he turned to find Alec leaning against the doorframe of the library. Magnus smiled and took to his feet.  
"Alec." He said simply and Alec came from the doorway and met Magnus in the middle of the room where Alec pulled him in for a hug. Magnus wrapped his arms around him, and in the next instance there was a tickle at his neck. Lips. The tickle traveled up his neck and to his check where Magnus joined in on the kiss.  
Alec's lips were smooth and easy, and Magnus pulled Alec in tighter—Alec did not object. In the moment that their tongues passed briefly, Alec pulled away and looked into Magnus's blazing yellow eyes.  
"Good afternoon." He said and they kissed once more, before both pulling away, Magnus returning to his seat and touching his fingers together as he stared up at Alec whose hands were now behind his back.  
"Good afternoon yourself, you seem to be in the best of moods today. What bug bit you in the ass?" Alec chuckled and looked at the floor.  
"Nothing, I just got you a little gift. Or _us _a little gift." Magnus rose and eyebrow.  
"Why I love gifts, but I don't think it's my birthday." Alec smiled with all his teeth and stepped forward towards Magnus where he dropped to one knee and from behind his back he pulled a satin colored box. Magnus gasped and gripped the arms of his chair. His yellow eyes turned gold-green and glinted in the sunlight that shined into the library.  
Alec's own eyes lightened, and bloomed wide like sapphire colored flowers. His black hair hung perfectly on either side of his head. "Magnus Bane, I have been in love with you since that autumn night in August, and not long after did I find that you and I were meant to be. It wasn't until the War ended that I knew that we had to be one. Every time I look into your eyes, my heart longs to meet your lips, and every time I feel your lips, my heart beats faster, and warms my chest like heavenly fire. You are my sun and my moon, my stars and my heart. And now, as we sit her in the blazing afternoon light, I ask you—and I only ask you once—will you be my mate? Will you be mines to keep? To hold? To love? To kiss? My salvation before and after death? Will you still love me when I am old, when I am wrinkled and my eyes have lost their glimmer? Will you always be there in the middle of the night when I can't sleep? Will we be together for a thousand and one summers, and a lifetime of winters? Will you marry me, Magnus Bane?"  
Magnus sat in utter shock, all the muscles in his body were gone, and he felt slightly lightheaded, yet heavy as the earth itself. Then he stood and he took Alec's hands and closed the box as he pulled Alec into him and pressed his lips against his. A blazing warmth burned through both of them, and Magnus clutched Alec's hands, not wanting to let go, never wanting to not feel his strong grip. He didn't want this moment to end, for their lips to pat, and for him to have to answer. For that one brief moment, Magnus slid his arms down to Alec's waist and smiled into the kiss, and he whispered, "Yes. Yes, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, I will marry you. I will be yours to hold, to keep, and to love. I will be yours for all eternity, and I will sit with you through every blazing summer, and I will hold you when the sky is falling, and I will warm you when winter is coming. I love you."  
Alec didn't open his eyes, but somewhat breathlessly, he whispered back, "I love you, too." And there was no talk, and all there was kiss.

Magnus pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, but it did no good—the tears came, but he quickly wiped them away and flung himself off the bed, and ripped the curtains open.  
"No!" He shouted, as he stared at the ground. "This isn't how he would have wanted it. This isn't how he wants. I won't disappoint him. No," He growled and looked at himself in the window. "Look at you. Alec would be furious with you. He doesn't want you crying over spilled milk," He stared at himself in his eyes and barred his teeth at himself. "He wants you to clean it up."

Thunder rolled as Magnus threw open the doors, his shadow cast across the wooden floor of the library. Instantly, the gas lamps that hung along the walls were set ablaze with intense fire, before dimming to a suitable level. Magnus started for the center of the room, tables, chairs, and other objects were sent to the sides of the room, while a single table stood in front of him. Books flew to the table, landing in stacks.  
Magnus cracked his knuckles, and held out his hand where a small bottle of glitter landed in the center of his palm. He looked at himself in the glass and smirked. "We're cleaning it up alright," and he unscrewed the top and took several pinches of it and threw it across himself like fairy powder.  
When he was properly decorated he held out his hands to the books, and three of them threw themselves in front of him: _S. Finnick Liber Mones_, _Archángelis, Daemones, et Mortalem_, and _Dante Scriptor Annulorum Inferno_. The books flipped to several chapters on Demons, Levels of Hell, and all the extra information in between. Magnus quickly scanned the text, pointing his finger towards words, in which they were underlined.  
Several times he ripped out pages from books and added them to piles, other times he summoned sheets of paper to him, and the words recorded themselves onto the paper. For three hours he went through the books, with rain splattering against the windows and a choir of thunder singing to him, lighting flashing in the windows between each intervention.  
There was a stack of paper—from both books and his own notes—sitting next to him as he began to send the books away and back to their places. He sent one of his hands through his hair, the hand with his engagement ring on it. He had removed all other rings except that one. It was the only one he needed.  
The papers and notes he had collected, scattered themselves about the floor behind him, and the turned to them as the last one fitted itself into its place. All of them were notes he had gathered on Asmodeus and his Hellion Fire—both things that had taken Alec Lightwood away from him in what seemed like just seconds. Their love was stronger than that though, and Magnus wasn't about to let death—not death—dimensions separate them. Their love was stronger than that.  
He stood up straight, and put his hands on his hps. He would need more. He needed to know more, or at least more from an outsides point of view. He was also going to need more help if he was going to try and even attempt to do what was going through his mind.  
He had created one great Invention, with a great inventor, and now he was going to have to create another one. This time, with some of the most powerful people in the world.

Magnus knocked thrice on Maryse's bedroom door. At first there wasn't a sound, and then he heard someone walking across the wooden floor. Maryse opened the door to Magnus. She wore a green night gown, and Magnus could think of a billion different things to have worn to bed. Then again, he was standing at her door in violet pajamas and no shirt.  
"Magnus, you're the last person I'd expect to be coming to me at this hour." Magnus smirked.  
"Well, the person I would usually be knocking on their door isn't here at the moment. Plus, I need your help. You have something that I need." Maryse looked the warlock up and down with her arms crossed. Then she nodded.  
"Give me a minute." Magnus smiled at her and nodded.  
"Meet me in the library."

Magnus turned at the sound of the Library doors swinging open. Maryse entered wearing pajama slacks, a tank top, and pink slippers. "Not to be rude, Mrs. Lightwood, but you have no taste." Maryse rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to say something, but then she laid her eyes on the fleet of paper strewn across the floor.  
"Magnus…" She looked up at him in awe. "What have you been doing in here?"  
"Trying to clean up spilled milk." She was obviously dumbstruck by the term. Magnus stepped away from the window and began towards her with his hands behind his back. "I have come to realize something, Maryse. We have been mourning for three days straight now, and tonight, I remembered this ring on my finger." Magnus held up his right hand where the ring sat lonely. "It's our engagement ring, I still remember the words that Alec said that day…Anyhow, I got out of bed, and I had a short talk with myself, and what I told myself is why I came here. Alec wouldn't want us sitting around bawling our eyes out, no, he would want us doing something, trying to find Clover Scott and Asmodeus, trying to figure out how to get him back, how to turn this all around. That is what I mean. We have spilled milk, and we have to clean it up." Magnus was about a yard away from Maryse, and she stood agog, before breaking into a wide smile.  
"You're right. Alec…Alec doesn't want us crying. He wants us to try and get him back." Magnus tipped his head at Maryse and smiled.  
"You catch on fast," Magnus thought something, and then smiled at her. "Mom."

"So what exactly are you planning to do?" Maryse asked as she crouched down over the many notes that Magnus had written.  
"Well, I plan on doing something revolutionary. I don't know if you know, but I helped Herny Branwell invent the Portal, for if I had not provided the magic, the Portal would have never existed. I have traveled across the world, and visited almost every country in my five hundred years of existence. I have seen and fought many things, and I have met many great and terrible Shadowhunters and Downworlders. But, Henry Branwll is the only whom I can truly say I have done something great with, of course there was the young James Herondale, but that is another matter. No, what I have fabricated in my mind tonight is something that many only dream of, many will never seek to try and fulfill such ambitions." Thunder roared as a pause persisted. "I plan to travel through time." Lightning.  
"Magnus, you're not serious are you? You think that you can actually create a device that will allow us to travel through time?" Magnus looked over his shoulder at her.  
"Yes, why not? Why, if we could travel though time, we could go back and stop Alec from ever being thrown into the fire. We could go back and stop Clover from ever going to Asmodeus. Hell, why don't we go back and kill Valentine before the Mortal War began? Stop him from creating Sebastian. Think of the possibilities, Maryse."  
"I am, and I'm thinking about all he hell that will ensue after."  
"Now you're using your head." Magnus laughed, and Maryse smiled at Magnus.  
"Why, if we're not crazy are we simply not using our heads?"  
"No, we are not. Now, I will warn you Maryse—mother—that this is not going to be an easy journey, in fact, it will take several months at the least to perfect it. We will have to become like Victor Frankenstein and play God. We are going to push the boundaries of the very physics, and fabric of the universe, for the Shadow Realms are only the beginning of where we are going to go to succeed, in the meanwhile, there are other plans."  
"Such as?"  
"We venture into the Seven Circles of Hell and retrieve Alec, if he is there of course. For all we know, Asmodeus is keeping him locked in some cell right beneath our feet. The only way to know for sure is by starting off on the right foot. Though, I fear we have no started at all, for we haven't even begun to stand on our own feet, we're still crawling Maryse. We're learning the basics and sticking to them. Well, now it's time that we step out of the basics, and it's time we stand up and walk into the rain." Magnus's voice boomed through the library, full of power, and full of vision.  
"May I say one thing?" Maryse asked from the floor.  
"Why of course."  
"I am proud to be your mother-in-law." Magnus turned around and they stared at each other for a brief moment, before Maryse stood and hugged Magnus. Magnus hugged her back, and held her tight in his arms.  
"I am happy to be your son-in-law."

The sound of ripping lightning shook Clary violently from her sleep.  
She shot straight up, her hair flying into her face, and shadows crossed her room, sending instant chills down her spine. She swallowed, and realized she had woken to nothing but a storm, though her mind was still jarring and trying to understand just what had happened in the short space of four seconds. She put a hand on her head and listened to the semi-mellifluous sound of thunder drumming over the city, and the hard-soft flicking of rain on her window. She looked towards her window in fact, and saw that the sky was nearly as black as Sebastian's heart.  
Her heart then stopped, and started slowly again. She hadn't thought about Sebastian in nearly three months, what made her think of him now? Surely it was just a thought, automatic and without reason. It was a correct analogy, right? Maybe not, Sebastian's heart was nonexistent for all she knew. She shook her head, she was overthinking something simple.  
"It's nothing," she told herself as she slipped out of bed, flipping her hair out of her face and standing. Her legs popped, though she only felt and didn't hear it over the thunder.  
Clary walked to the kitchen, and she flipped the switch, the light buzzed on overhead. Behind her, she found the table covered in Luke and Jocelyn's small wedding hurricane. It was a sea of red, gold, and black a beautiful mix. A mix that Clary also knew were the colors of Shadowhunters.  
Gold for the bride's gown, red for grand ceremonies, and black for hunting through the night. Of course, Luke and Jocelyn seemed to have melded the three together for a brilliantly unique. Clary smiled and turned back to the kitchen where she reached into the fridge to pour a glace of apple juice but found none. She shrugged and grabbed a water instead.  
After, she climbed the stairs to check on her parents. Stopping at the door, and then cracking it open, she first saw their dresser at the front of the room, and slowly as she opened the door further, she saw…the open balcony door, and a a empty bed. She gasped nad threw open the door.  
The covers were thrown to the floor, and there weren't even indentions where they had been sleeping. How long had they been gone? Clary shook her head, and went to close the balcony door, the cold storm air. Water soaked the floor under her feet, and she quickly jumped away from it. She hadn't thought to throw on any warm clothes, and stood there in her bra and panties on account of the fact that she didn't know her parents would be going missing in the middle of the night.  
She stared at the bed, evaluating what to do next, then ran out the room, down the steps and back into her very own.  
She threw on jeans, a black shirt with one of Simon's bands many names on it—a waist of over a hundred dollars of merchandise that was never sold still sat at the back of Simon's storage garage—and two sweaters, thought about it, and then threw on yet another. She laced on her boots, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, stuffing on a beanie over her head.  
She threw back the clothes that stood in her way, and there, in the back of the closet, was her Shadowhunter gear. She grabbed a seraph blade, two daggers, and took her arm gauntlets. Finally, in her nightstand drawer, she pulled out her phone an stuffed it in her pocket, her wallet, and lying at the very front of the drawer was her stele—the only true weapon she needed in the event a demon tried to rip her head off.  
At the door, she pulled out her phone again and scrolled to Simon.

Simon was jerked out of sleep, popcorn went flying from the bowl at his stomach. He groaned and blinked several times, for the TV was on mute and the lights were still blaring in his face at jarring speeds. In his pocket, his phone was vibrating, and he jammed his hand into his pocket, and produced it, answering without looking, and slapping it to his ear.  
"-ello?" His voice was slurred, sleep still resonating with in him.  
"Simon?" Clary was urgent on the other end. Simon rubbed his eyes, and slowly sat up.  
"Clary what's wrong?" He said groggily, but his voice was slowly clearing enough for her to truly understand him.  
"Simon—Simon I need you to meet me Java's, with your van, my parents are gone." Simon was awake just like that.  
"I'm on my way." He was on his feet. He slipped on his shoes quickly, grabbed the keys to the van and bolted out the door, slamming it behind him. In the process, waking up his mother.

"Thank you," Clary snapped, throwing the wrong amount of money at the taxi driver and bolted out of the yellow car into the rain. It was coming down in hard sheets, and she jumped at the flash of lighting behind her. She looked over her shoulder, and saw cars zooming up and down the streets, but she didn't see Simon's van. She swallowed hard, and slipped into Java's.  
It was mostly empty, only a few gothic teenagers snogging each other in the corner, a counter guy, and a Janitor who was reading a paperback, his mop's tip tucked under his arm, one movement from slapping the ground.  
Clary checked her phone: 10:31. She looked out the window of Java's again, and still didn't see the van. Her heart pounded against her chest. What if he didn't come? Or what if something bad had happened to him? She instantly put the thought out of her mind. Nothing bad could happen to him, not only was he a vampire, but she had marked him with the Mark of Cain. Nothing and no one could stop him; he was virtually invincible.  
Still…  
The van pulled, and Clary's heart instantly slowed. Simon sprinted into Java's with his shirt over his head. Water was running down his arms, face, and his shirt stuck to his hard body.  
"Simon!" Clary exclaimed and threw her arms around him, and quickly pulled away, running a hand through her hair. "I thought something bad had happened to you."  
"God forbid." Clary gasped.  
"Simon, you said it." Simon was confused, and quickly put it off.  
"There are much more important things to attend to—your parents, remember." Clary had forgotten in light of the moment, and quickly slapped her forehead.  
"Right. I woke up to get something to drink, and then I went up to their room, and they were gone." Simon nodded.  
"We should call Jace, or someone, I don't think I was the best choice."  
"I know, I didn't know who else to call, and it was just automatic, but you're right, I'll call him right now." She pulled out her phone. Meanwhile, Simon stared out the window at the torrential downpour, and saw the sky brighten with blue lightning. It was probably the worst storm they had seen all month, and there had been some pretty bad storms. It seemed that in the past three days, the storms had been gathering, conjoining, and swarming into a hurricane level storm. This made Simon worry, not for himself, but the premonition of what was to come. He had known about the Shadow world for far too long to turn the other cheek to something like this.  
Clary turned to him urgently, "He's not answering."  
"Well then lets got to the Institute and get him, maybe you should try calling your parents too." For some reason, the thought had never crossed Clary's mind as an option.  
She quickly dialed her mother's number, and listened to the dial tone. Back at her house, the phone sat in a drawer blaring into the night—the half dead silence, kept company by the storm. Clary's heart quickened, and she pressed 'end' and looked at Simon, her expression full of worry.  
"Let's go." She snapped at him, and threw herself out into the rain and into the van. Simon didn't even move that fast. He sprinted into the van, started it up, and they were off.

Clary sprinted through the corridors of the Institute, her feet pounding the floor. She took the stairs four at a time, nearly slipping, but clutching onto the railing for balance. When she reached the second floor, thunder raptured above the Institute, seeming to shake the world, and lighting followed soon after, sending shadows across the hall. The windows were set alight with the violent blue of the storm. Clary secretly feared that their glass would shatter before her, raining down upon her and killing her.  
She swallowed, sprinted on. When she reached Jace's door, she didn't care to have manners and burst into his room. At his side, she took him awake. His hands quickly flew out. Clary cartwheeled back with the sound of Jace's fist moving the air. He shot out of his bed, ripped his drawer open and in his hand there was a seraph blade.  
After a moment, Jace recognized her and narrowed his eyes.  
"Clary? What are you doing here?" He asked stepping towards her. Her words were caught in her throat as she saw Jace standing there in the dark light of the storm. His golden hair tussled around his head, and his blue eyes still coming to light from sleep. His hard muscles and abs, lined with faded runes. And at the center of his chest was the _parabatai_ rune. It was fading, and looked as though it had been bleeding. "Clary," Jace was in front of her now, and he snapped in her face. She stopped observing him, and spoke clearly.  
"My parents are gone, Jace." Jace stared at her for only a moment long before bring her to her feet, and then he darted into the bathroom, Clary followed him close.  
"Do you have any hunches about where they might have gone?" He asked as he threw on a white T-shirt, and began to pull off his jeans. Clary was about to answer—once again, her words stopped at her throat—when her eyes glanced down. _By the Angel_, she thought, _look at the size of it_.  
"Um, uh—no, I don't have any idea where they might be, they've never disappeared like this, and I'm actually pretty worried because we know what happened the last time my mother disappeared without a trace." Suddenly, a whole wave of memories washed over her, from Pandemonium Club, to the Ravener, to her first meeting with the Silent Brothers in the Bone City.  
She swallowed hard, and saw that Jace had slipped on his pants and was lacing up his boots. The picture of the lump in his underwear resonated within her skull, and inside her shirt, she felt her nipples get hard. "Yes," Jace said, breaking her out of thought and standing up. "we do. Hopefully that Ravener won't come back for round two." Jace smirked, and pushed his arms into a skintight shirt, only to throw on a thick sweater that looked much warmer than all three of Clary's combined.  
"We should go back to your place and look for any clues they might have left that will tell us any inclination of where they might have gone." Jace said without a doubt, and walked past Clary and back into the bedroom.  
"Should we tell Maryse?" Clary urged.  
"Yes, we might as well tell Isabelle as well, this could well be our next adventure." Jace joked.  
"I don't like the sound of that." Jace came over and smiled down at her, kissing her on the forehead.  
"Don't worry, it's not as bad as it sounds." That rested no reassurance in Clary's heart.

The Fortress seemed to have grown straight from the ground in front fo them. It also seemed to just start, without any true entrance. Before them, down the long dirt path, small building rose up into conjunctions of other buildings, and a two hundred foot stone wall rested here and there, at the base surrounding the face of the Fortress, there were large piles of rubble. In the fields around them, Jocelyn could make out small figures and lines—demons and spears. There were also moving creatures, though Jocelyn could not tell what kinds of Demons they were from this far off from them.  
"What are we to do once we're in the city?" Jocelyn asked.  
"We're going to meet our own Clave." Amatis said.  
"Your own Clave? What do you mean?"  
"If you haven't noticed, in the past three months the Clave has been awfully quiet since the Mortal War ended and the Shadowhunter and Downworlders joined together as one. We weren't getting any help from them trying to find Sebastian—many other Shadowhunters have given up on even that—so we and those who decided Sebastian was more of a threat that the Clave let on decided to create our own Clave and Council." Amatis explained.  
"Why in Dion and not in another dimension?"  
"Because, we wanted to stay close to what we were after. Sebastian has been here for most of three months, and even after all this time, we only have a small handful of information about why he's here, and what he's doing." Amatis said it curtly, and automatically, as though she had practiced it as a mantra. Even more so, she said it coldly. Jocelyn hoped this wouldn't be their entire relationship for the time being. Luke seemed to have mutual feelings as he looked over his shoulder a Jocelyn, and mouthed, "Don't worry." Jocelyn nodded and gave a faintly reassuring smile.  
"_Jocelyn—Jocelyn Morgenstern—Jocelyn—Jocelyn_." She shadows whispered, and Jocelyn looked behind her. There was nothing but darkness there. She turned and the whispers returned, right in her ears. "_Jocelyn—Jocelyn Morgenstern._.." She whipped around again, and walked backwards for a moment, finding that there was still nothing behind her. She looked out into the darkness.  
"Call me silly," she said as she turned around. "But why didn't we bring any witchlights?"  
"Because, there are some at the Council, it's better to navigate the city in the dark." Amatis said.  
"But wouldn't the light ward off the demons?" Amatis looked over her shoulder at Jocelyn.  
"You're not afraid are you Jocelyn?" Jocelyn was about to reply, but the whispered whipped into her ears again.  
_"Jocelyn_." When she looked this time, she saw something pale, but it was gone in the same instant.  
"No." She said finally, though she wasn't entirely there, paying attention to what was ahead, rather she was listening for what was behind. Their feet crunched on the gravel like dirt, and Jocelyn felt a cold wind coming along from the fields. She bit her lip, and then finally broke, she wasn't going to just let herself believe she was going insane. "I think there's something following us."  
Amatis and Luke turned back to Jocelyn with dubious looks on their faces. "I'm serious." Jocelyn snapped. "Ever since we left Nick's house I've been hearing whispers, and I don't like it. I think that we need to take a look around to make sure that there aren't any spies or any demons following us." Amatis opened her mouth to say something, but Luke put up a hand.  
"She has a point Amatis. Every night since we've started coming here, we've never though tot look at our backs. For all we know, there's been a spy following us and getting all sorts of information about what we've been doing." Amatis looked from Jocelyn to Luke, and back to Jocelyn with her arms crossed.  
"Fine, make it quick." She snapped.  
"Right, lets split up, in a triangle formation and meet back here in five." And with that, they departed.  
Jocelyn produced her sword from the sheath at her back, and whispered, "_Potestas_." The rue at the tip of the blade glowed bright orange in the darkness. It was the strength rune, and she suddenly felt a wave of energy pass through her, and she clutched the hilt of the sword tightly as she walked back down the path they had come from.  
She swung the blade around, sending light across the dead grass and livid road. There was nothing there. From the shadows several strange creatures took flight to the air—hellion replicas of birds. She turned away from the sky, and continued down the road, holding out the tip of her sword as far as she could, the orange rune blazing like fire.  
"Wish I had my stele…" she muttered to herself as yet another large flock of the bird-like creatures exploded into the dark air. There was a small cottage to her right, and she asw someone slip from the window before he could turn her sword in the cottage's direction. As she walked further, crunching along into the grass, she began to wonder if she was just being crazy, maybe she was just paranoid about being in Dion. She reached a fallen demon with a spear in its head. She crouched down and waved the blade over its head.  
The spear tip was engraved with _Ignis_ and Strength runes. It appeared that the spear and the demons head had been on fire perpetually for quite some time, before finally burning out. Jocleyn stood up straight and observed the craftsmanship of the spear. It appeared to be of Shadowhunter creation, but she didn't understand why Shadowhunters would be here, or waging a war here rater. That begged the question of whether the Shadowhuntes had once ruled Dion. But that didn't make sense, Dion was specifically a demon realm, that had evolved into more than that—a civilization of demons. In some ways, Jocelyn found, that demons were nothing more than darker verisions of youself and your sins. Which would make since about why they evolved with humans, making sure they were always able to slip into a mortal's body without fear of immediate exorcism.  
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!" Jocelyn whirled around at the sound of the scream, and she started sprinting the down the road, sending gravel through the air behind her. There was something like the sound of cracking rock, and then a loud snarl—Luke.  
"Amatis! Amatis where are you?" Jocelyn shouted into the darkness. Behind her, Luke came barreling at her, and slid to a stop, his muzzle risen and his ears flat. There was a shriek to the east, and Jocleyn looked at Luke, who lowered quickly for her. Jocelyn threw herself on Luke's back, and he took off.  
Wind whipped around them, and Jocelyn held on tightly to Luke's back, her sword still in hand and providing the orange glow to stretch out in front of them. And then, there in the grass was Amatis, standing over her was a Foresaken boy, runes glowing all over his body like gold and fire. He was screaming himself as he tried to clutch Amatis's neck.  
Jocelyn threw herself off of Luke's back, and she whipped out a seraph blade and held it up in the obsidian night around them. "_Michael_!" She shrieked, and an explosion of blinding light surrounded them as though lighting had been stuck right before their eyes. The Foresaken boy hissed, and was away in a flash of shadows. Jocelyn sprinted off in the direction that the boy went, though she knew she was no match to the boy—he seemed to have several speed runes Marked on his skin, which would give him an advantage. Jocelyn cursed. Why the hell hadn't they brung any steles?  
Suddenly she was tackled, and the Foresaken boy had slammed his fist into her jaw, and then he slammed into it again. Jocelyn screamed, and the boy threw her sky high, before she freefell, her sword somewhere far below her, and her seraph blade had fallen from her hand, but still illuminated the darkness like a falling star.  
She stared up in the cloudless black sky, and somewhere far below, there was a howl. Even so, Jocelyn feared she wouldn't be going back through the Portal tonight.

Before they had even entered, Isabelle was already up, and pulling on her tights and a long sleeve skintight shirt. She retrieved her whip from the window sill, and turned as Jace and Clary entered. Clary stopped dead, taken aback as she saw Isabelle.  
"Isabelle, where are you…"  
"You don't just burst into your brother's room, make a hell of a lot of noise, and not wake anyone up. Your voice was urgent enough, so I decided I might as well be prepared for the worst." Isabelle said from inside her closet where she produced a pair of warm-ups and jeans, several shirts and a jacket. All of the articles of clothing matched. Isabelle was always one to be fashionable. "So, what's the sitch this time?" Isabelle asked as she pulled the warm-ups on.  
"My parents are gone, and I don't know where." She had stopped saying it with so much shock, and more as a fact. It was like after the first few times when you said you'd lost your dog. Of course, most people could count on their dog to come back, as he was probably just having a ball playing with the other dogs down the corner. Not many people could say that they had lost their parents, and weren't sure where to start looking. Clary smirked a the prospect of putting up missing parents posters around town.  
"Oh joy, and I imagine that we're bringing the whole gang on this one?"  
"Probably, though, we can probably handle it on our own." Isabelle shook her head just as Clary was saying it.  
"No, Clary, never say we can handle it on our own. We can never handle it on our own. Especially when it comes to your parents. Do you have any idea where they might be?"  
"Not really, they're either somewhere in the city….or, I don't know." Isabelle gave Clary as look as she passed the final shirt over her shoulders.  
"What's the other idea?" Isabelle asked. Clary bit her lip and let out a breath.  
"They're in the Shadow Realms, and that begs the question of why would they be there, of all places?"  
"Usually, I would say it's none of our business, but for them not to have told you and to be sneaking off in the middle of the night with no trace, I think that's a pretty big deal." Isabelle clipped on her belt, and her whip with it. Rain was still pouring torrentially outside, and lighting struck every few moments.  
"God this is a terrible storm." Clary said. Isabelle looked behind her, and light was cast across the room was a tree of lightning bolts spread out across the sky.  
"Indeed. The Angels are not happy." Isabelle tossed her hair back and looked grimly at Clary. "There's dark business going down somewhere, and that's never a good thing." Clary swallowed, and Jace entered the room with Maryse and Magnus. Both were still wearing nothing but their night clothes.  
"We have a problem?" Magnus asked. Clary nodded. Magnus sighed. "I'll go down and get ready then."  
"Clary," Maryse started forward. "How long have your parents been gone?"  
Clary checked her phone. It was 10:47. "I don't know, I woke up sometime around ten, so maybe over half an hour now." Maryse nodded.  
"We should go back to your house and try and find something that they left there that might leave any inclination of where they went. Also, Magnus could probably sense any demonic presences that may've been there." Clary smiled, and hugged Maryse.  
"Thank you, Maryse." Maryse returned the hug.  
"It's no problem."

Simon was sitting in the van, the heat blasting, and the window wipers slashing rain from the windshield. Of course, it didn't do much as the rain was coming down in heavy sheets, and it was a wonder that Simon could even see a few feet outside of the car. He wondered what was taking Clary so long, and he looked at the towering Institute, nearly dark in the rain, the torches that usually blazed in the front were long since put out by the rain.  
He dropped his head back on the seats headrest, and checked his phone: 10:49.  
"Come on Clary, it can't possibly take that long to wake up Sleeping Bea—" The sound of exploding and tearing metal ripped out from behind him, and he whipped around, lightning striking and the sound of rain screamed into the van.  
Standing there in the rain with her hands till outstretched, and the doors crooked on their hinges. "Simon Lewis!" Camille's voice rang out in his ears. Simon slammed on the gas without a second thought.


	6. A Whole Other War

Cerulean light exploded out of the corner of Jocelyn's eye, and below her the fields once black and cold, were set ablaze with indigo flames. Out of the darkness that once was, came Nick his coat billowed around him, and his hands were blazing with the same indigo fire that lit up the fields below. In an instant, he swiped Jocelyn out of the air, and glided down to the ground at a quick but steady pace. He dropped Jocelyn lightly, and then whirled around to see the Foresaken child screaming as he ran thr0ough the flames. His skin was on fire, the runes on his arms, face, and legs were glowing red, Nick held out his hand and a funnel of blue flames shot out of his hands and engulfed the child. He cried out, bending over backwards as the fames consumed his body, and blood drooled out of the sides of his eyes like wet mascara.  
Jocelyn and Luke stared at the phenomenon. Amatis was unconscious next to them. Nick swas levitating a yard off of the ground, his hand was still outstretched. The flames seemed ot be never ending as they poured out his hand like water from a faucet. The sky reflected the indigo color, only brightening now. The Foresaken child finally fell to the ground in the middle of the flames, his clothes, hair and body smoldering and near ash. His eyes had melted, and the runes on his skin fading back to the faint white color they were.  
Nick lowered his arms, the flames that danced in his hands dissipated into blue sparks. The flames that had engulfed the fields, a slashing biting sea, also dissipated into clouds of spiraling smoke that danced in the air. Nick slowly returned to his feet and turned to them.  
He crouched down by Amatis, and rested his hand on her chest. "She's alive, but she's injured badly in the neck, you're going to have to get where you're going quickly."  
"Can you teleport us there?" Jocelyn asked. Nick shook his head.  
"No warlock, nor Shadowhunter can travel interdimensional while inside of a dimension. It pushes the very boundaries of the universe, and I would be a madman to try as much. The universe is a fragile place, Jocelyn, remember that." Nick turned to her, his matted hair withering. She nodded, and turned to Luke.  
"I'll carry her on my back you, too. We'll get there faster." Luke said to her, and Jocelyn turned back to Nick.  
"Thank you for saving me. Do you know what the little boy is?" She asked. His lips flattened into a line.  
"He's my boy's double. I have a double too, his name is Nikkis. Everyone has that evil twin, and it just so happened that my boys and I's were in this dimension. They won't die, and if they do die, we die with them. They're as much a part of us as we are them, still, they wish to do us harm, so we must do harm to them also. Be aware of that, and watch out for Nikkis. He is in league with Sebastian." Jocelyn and Luke nodded.  
"Thank you again Nick, for saving my wife." Jocelyn smiled at Luke, and Nick gave a short nod before rising to his full height.  
"Don't expect me to do it again, which drained me, at least for now. Hopefully I can stil open a Portal by the time you all start heading back my way. If I can't you can sit tight can't you?" Jocelyn bit her lip, unsure if she would be able to take such necessities.  
"I don't know, Clary…" Luke put a hand on Jocelyn's.  
"Don't worry, we'll get back, even if it's not through Portal." Luke reassured her, and she hugged him gratefully. Nick stood awkwardly, and then nodded to then, Jocelyn smiled him. Nick whirled around and started back towards the settlement of cottages down the road.  
"Well, that was exciting." Jocelyn laughed.  
"Yes, now come on, our Council is probably worried something has happened to us."  
"And they're right to believe so." Jocelyn said, coming to her feet. "we just need to hurry before Amatis gets any worse."  
Luke transformed, and Jocelyn placed Amatis on his back, and climbed aboard too, keeping Amatis steady as Luke turned towards the Fortress, and took off down the road.

Oren sat at the back of the alley, the rain poured down over him. The jacket provided no warmth, as it was soaked and heavy, he probably would have been better off without it. He had surrounded himself in anything that would probably provide warmth, but nothing was enough, and he whimpered lowly and curled in on himself in a fetal position best he could. He was already tight as he could possibly get, but that didn't deter him.  
Thunder boomed, and he jumped in fright the plastic, paper, and other assortment of items shuffled around him. He sneezed, sending snot into his jacket, but he didn't care—the rain was bath enough for it not to stick. Sniffling he finally decided he wasn't going to find sleep or warmth, and he sat up. The trash tumbled off of him like dirt from an erected ancient edifice.  
Oren, though fourteen, was already built better than most, and his hair was cut down to its black stubs. His eyes were the color of mint, and all in all, he was a pretty well of kid. The only thing that might deter someone way from him was the unsightly crimson mark on his neck. The werewolf's bite. Oren remembered little about what exactly happened in Central Park, though he did remember much snarling, howling, and his own screams burning thorugh his ears.  
He swallowed, and got to his feet, leaning best he could on the wall next to him. It was riddled with graffiti, grime, and the bricks would probably collapse within twenty years. That was another thing, Oren wasn't just a good guesser, and he was pretty smart. He had never liked going out to parties, he had never truly understood the want of attention, even he being on the football team didn't change that. He once had his small group of friends that he stuck too, and from what he had seen in the days before the bite, they were fading from him like his past life was fading from him. He swallowed, and tried to hold back tears.  
He didn't want to forget, he didn't want to lose all that once was, even the unglamorous moments, he wanted to keep them, hold them close to his heart where they belonged. Thunder boomed overhead, and he looked up into the rain that came down like shards of glass in a room full of broken mirrors.  
When he looked back down, and ahead, he gasped. Standing at the end of the alley there was a tall silhouette of a man. He stood with his arms at his sides, and still like the buildings around him. Oren only stared, then he slowly got to his feet. The figure started forward, a haunting shadow like a Dementor or his own personal Grim Reaper.  
"Hey, guy, look I don't have any money, I don't even have a phone." Oren aid as he put his hands up, but the figure grew closer without stopping. He didn't know why he even spoke in the first place, as if it was going to stop the guy who was walking towards him from mugging him, or even worse still killing him. Plus, the dude had already wasted his time coming towards Oren threateningly, so why take mercy on the poor kid? "Please." Oren pressed, but the figure got closer, and closet, and Oren's fingers slowly slipped through the cold, wet diamonds in the chain link fence at his back.  
Finally the figure stopped just a yard in front of them. The figure stuffed his hand in his pocket, and produced a light—no, a phone. Oren squinted his eyes, and then the figure turned the phone on himself to reveal a face no more threatening that a small puppy. The light revealed a boy with high cheek bones, soft hazel eyes, and black hair that brimmed just over his eyebrows. Oren stared transfixed, or confused rather.  
"What…Who are you?" Oren asked. It was a moment that was as biblical as it was comical. For Oren stared at the boy as though he were an angel who had just descended from heaven to retrieve him. Yes, an angel who descended right into a filthy and shit smelling alley to save Oren, who may or may not have been dead. He felt dead in this deathly cold.  
"My name is Kyle, I'm here to guide you." He said. Oren blinked.  
So he _was _an angel.

The van swerved around the corner, sending Camille flying to the door on the left side of the van, her nails diging into the metal. Simon looked in the rearview mirror again and, saw her billowing platinum hair, and flapping crimson dress, she looked like a flag in the night—a flag covered in blood.  
He had to lose her, and he had to get back around to the Institute before Clary and the others got back. He turned back to the road, and swung the van hard as he tried not to ram into the back of a Mercedes. It slammed on his horn, but he wasn't paying attention, because now he was in the wrong lane. He didn't see an opening in the correct lane, and the cars advancing towards him didn't' seem to be slowing down—as though they didn't see him.  
Simon snapped to look at the sidewalk, to find that it was empty, and almost coincidentally, there was a park beyond the sidewalk.  
"Let's do something stupid." Simon said, and he jerked the wheel to the left with all his strength—which was to say enough to break the steering wheel—and the car jerked off of the side of the road, bumped onto the pavement, and zoomed into the park, before slamming on its side into a rock, sending the car ten feet into the air, and tumbling down a small hill into a tree.  
Wood splintered as the tree bent over, crashing into the ground. Along with it, lighting struck lighting the sky above. Simon opened his eyes, and found that he was upside down. Black steam was filling the car, and he could barely see past it, all that met his eyes was the rain and mud covered windshield, webbed with cracks and holes. He found the door, and pushed himself out of the car, and he was only halfway out the door when he was jerked out of the car violently. He bellowed out, and found himself suddenly rocketing through the air, but claws still dug into the back of his neck. With a resounding flash of lightning, his vision blurred and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was upside down, the world was dark, and the as his senses returned to him, the only thing that caught his eye was the red satin dress, and as he looked up further, his eyes met the bouquet of roses laced onto Camille's chest, and finally Camille's tumultuous blonde hair. Her ruby eyes met his, and she smiled, her fangs gleaming.  
"Simon, why you've woken up." She said in a quaint and innocent voice.  
"Why am I upside down?" Camille tightened her lips.  
"Of all the questions that you ask me, you ask me why you're upside down." She rolled her eyes. "I've bound you to the wall in case you try to escape, but that's not important. What's important is that you help me." Simon groaned.  
"I'm helping a lot of people right now, and I don't think I want to take anymore favors, especially from Downworlders. And if you don't mind, I have places to be right now, and you're really screwing up everything."  
Camille scoffed at him with her hands planted on her hips. "Are you inquiring that what you have to do is more important than what I need to tell you? You're funny and you have a lot to learn, Simon Lewis. I'm sure that Clary can get along without you following her like a lost puppy." Camille observed Simon, examined him with her x-ray vision, and grinned even wider. "Why, both you and Jace are hopeless, and Clary is just confused as ever. I feel sorry for her really."  
"Don't talk about Clary like that. What do you want, and if you're just here to ask me to join you, then fuck off, because I'm not going to. Clary's par—, Clary's having a bad night and e she called me, I didn't go to her like a lost puppy."  
"Sure you don't, but we're not here to discuss how hopeless you are, we're here to talk business."  
"How come you could touch me?" Simon blurted. Camille looked taken aback, and then dug her nails into the heel of her palm, smiling.  
"Some Shadowhunters will do anything for the right price." Simon gawked at her, and she slowly pulled down the neck of her dress, and there at the center of the chest was a rune Simon had never seen before, and he had seen many Shadowhunters runes in the past few months, enough that he could tell the one on Camille's chest looked like it was out of someone's own invention. It looked like a snake with a slash through it. Simon narrowed his eyes at Camille. Clary was the only one who could create new runes, it was here who Marked Simon, and the one who had crated the binding Rune during the last battle in the Mortal War. Could there be another? Could there be one other person in the world who could create runes? Who could Mark Downworlders?  
"You see Simon, that little mark on your large forehead wasn't gifted to you by either God or an Angel, thus it isn't as powerful, powerful, but not invincible. You see, this mark on my chest is what we have named the Devil's Hand, the Devil's pet if you will. It allows me to not only be marked, but to touch that which is Holy—and turn it evil. Of course, I don't need you turning yet, I only need you to do as I say." Simon was shaking his head, but stopped as it began to make him dizzy—why did he seem to suddenly feel so…human? He swallowed and stared at her.  
"I'm not doing anything for you, the Seelie Queen has already made an offer to me, and I'm not accepting it. I'm not about to deal and be a pawn to you Downworlders. How about you find another Vampire to harass while their walking home in the middle of the night." Camille smiled.  
"If there were more Daylighters like you, then maybe, not to mention that mark is prescious to our causes."  
"What causes?" Simon spat.  
"The causes of life, love, and death. The causes of war, anguish, and unrealistic peace. The causes of pain, happiness, and sadness. Yes. You play a very important role Simon Lewis, a role that cannot simply be passed up. Plus, you have a unique relationship with Shadowhunters, one that has never been seen before. You seem to have bonded with them well enough, and that makes you a key player." Camille had started pacing.  
"Key player in what?" Camille pursed her lips, pondering the question while observing the ground.  
"Controlling the Downworlders, you see, most of the time wars start for petty things, very stupid things as I have seen, other times they start for revenge, I have seen that twice in my life of being around you Shadowhunters, once in the 1800's, now in this present day. The cycle never ceases to stop or slow down, I digress though. Sometimes wars are also started for power, for rule over a territory. And New York is a big territory. I was once head of the New York Clan, only to be beaten out by Raphael, and even he seems to have gone off the record. You see Simon, we Downworlders play a much different game from the Shadowhunters. The Shadowhunters merely hunt us, we actually have a fluent society, a society that is just as every bit dysfunctional and diverse as the mortals. The Shadowhunters are second class, protectors, just like the Angels of Heaven. The Souls that go up—the mortals in this case—will always be the first class citizens. But you see Simon, there has never been such a thing as _third _class citizens, not in the recent history of my mind at least. We are that third class—you and I, the Seelie Queen, the Werewolves, Magnus Bane and the Warlocks of the world. We are all of one 'race', a race of the infected, the dealers, and the falsely royal. We Downworlders must play a different game with each other, and when opportunity calls where we have a chance to one up someone in our game, we take that chance and we don't split it, we keep it to ourselves. It's all about coming out on top Simon, it's all about the power, what you earn with it, and what you do with it. The Downworld is a big place Simon, it doesn't just expand under the mortal world in Hell, it expands across many more Dimensions that the Shadowhunters will ever be able to imagine. We are playing a war with each other, a war that could end after its beginning thousands of years ago. You are our game changer, you are our one weapon that could change _everything_, literally. And even better if we were to somehow have the Shadowhunters fight with us. Clary Fray specifically. Do you see your role now Simon? Do you see why you are such a key player? Why you are so important that we snatch up out of your van in the middle of the night, and why we Mark ourselves like the dirty Shaodwhunters?"  
Camille had stepped towards him, her head cocked, and her eyes narrow. They blazed like fire, and everything about her tone of voice and body language told Simon that she wasn't kidding. After truly taking in Camille's speech, he nodded.  
"Yes," he breathed. Camille took several steps back with her hands behind her back, her gown shuffling across the concrete floor.  
"Good." She gave a nod, and turned her back to Simon. "Good…Now, my offer. I want you to come with me—join me—in the Vampire Realm _Terra Puniceae_. Land of Crimson. There, we will Mark you with the Devils Hand, thereby burning away your Mark of Cain, as the two cannot compete for your body, if they did, and you would spontaneously combust like a balloon full of Heavenly Fire." Simon didn't like that picture, he could picture it clear as day. His body parts splattered against the walls, a small blot of blood where he once stood, flames dancing in the corners of the room. He didn't like that picture. "Then, there will be much business to attend to here in New York, namely with the Seelie Queen and her court, then with the Warlocks."  
"There are other Warlocks in Brooklyn?"  
"Of course, but they go undetected, outshined by the blue light of Magnus Bane. In addition, they live in the shadows and go by a whole other name, forming ruthless gangs like the mortals, blending in with the mortals in fact, and causing havoc in the Backbone of New York." Camille's tone was mostly quiet, soft, and understanding even.  
Simon and Camille were silent for a moment, no sound came through the room, as neither of them had beating hearts or breath. "I can't go against the Shadowhunters, I…I can't go against Clary. No, I won't join you."  
"Not even if it meant saving Clary? Saving her from trouble to come? And what about stopping an impending war over Clary herself? An impending war that will rise from the Downworld and up, not to mention the recent acts of a certain Shadowhunter belonging to the Clave." Simon remembered the talk with Jace earlier today in Taki's, but it had been pushed into the back of his mind until now, and it seemed to have never have happened in the first place.  
Simon didn't answer, so Camille did. "I will give you a week, within that time you should be able to come up with a reasonable decision, and you should be prepared to turn down the Seelie Queens offer whatever it may be, for I could not get her stupid letter open. It apparently must be opened by your hands, and your hands only." Camille turned around with the note in her hands.  
"Where did you…You know, I don't want to know." Camille nodded and placed the letter at Simon's head, and she turned her blonde locks whirling around her as she started for the other side of the room. "Hey, wait, aren't you going to get me down?" She was already out the door, and Simon assumed she was gone. He snarled. "I think I might take the Seelie Queen up on her offer." He grumbled, and looked down at the note under his head. Sighing, he began struggling to break himself from the binds.

The flames ambled, crepitating and sending heat out across the room in waves, at the same time, it was still very cold in the room. Sebastian stood, the witch floated next to him, her spoon was strapped to her sides, and she held her clawed hands towards the fire. She was sailing, beaming even, her sharpened teeth looked to be in layers, and these layers were covered in glistening saliva.  
"Now," she said as she broke the silence only filled by the ambient crackle of fire. "We shall begin the summoning ritual, but you must be prepared to speak with Charon, he has a short patience, and is a very busy God. So, tell me know Sebastian Morgenstern—whose soul do you wish to bring up, and whose soul do you wish to bring down?"  
Sebastian stared into the fluctuating flames, and bit his lips, considering his options with great detail and great choice. There were many that he could bring down, he already knew the one he wished to bring up, it was only sensible to bring him up...or maybe it wasn't. If he were to resurrect his father, Valentine Morgenstern, there would be a whole host of problems…his father would get in the way of his plans. His father would try and continue on with what he had begun in his previous life, but that left the question, who else would Sebastian have to resurrect?  
"Tell me," Sebastian said finally. "if I were to resurrect someone, would they be under my command? Would I be able to give them commands they would follow? Would I be their master?" The witch made the sound again, and Sebastian's skin finally broke and crawled. Such a horrible sound.  
"I'm sure that Charon would require an extra payment. Of course there is always the second option." She produced a long knife from her apron, and Sebastian saw himself in the reflection, the shadows dancing along his face, and his silver blonde hair seeming to glow in the opaque darkness of the room.  
"A blood sacrifice?" The witch nodded, and placed the knife back in her apron pocket.  
"You would need the blood of both yourself and the one that you wish to command."  
"I understand, can we begin?" The witch summoned two pans to her hands, and instantly she banged them together, the fire seemed to stop as though frozen and paused in time, and suddenly they disappeared, without a poof, a tendril of smoke, just gone. Where they had stood, burning in the floor there was a pentagram.  
"_Surgent_!" She screamed, and out of the ground came candles that lit themselves, and then the flames from the candles jumped out, and began to engulf the pentagram's circle, the low fire blazed green, flicks of blue danced out as well subtle as some of the things in the kitchen, as subtle as the hidden knife in the witches apron. "_Actrece nel Ignis_," the flames from the outer circle traced the lines of the stars arms in red, blazing hot, yet glowing lowly on the ground. Before Sebastian knew it, he was slashed in the arm, and staggered back, confused as to what had just happened.  
The witch held up her knife, blood flowed down the edge of the blade in fat globules—Sebastian's blood. "You bitch, we haven't even started the ceremony yet, and you have drawn my blood." He barked at her, and held out his hand, "_Isrtiph_!" The sword didn't appear, and the witch cackled delightedly.  
"You cannot use your own magic in the witches den, when the witch has taken your blood, you are at her will, and her bidding. There is no escape now. And why not pay early?" She laughed, and Sebastian balled his fists, and cursed her without speaking. The witch hovered over the outer circle of the pentagram, and held the blade over the flames. The flames were like small birds, trying to swallow the worm from their mother's beak. They reached up, trying to get the first taste of blood from the blade, and the witch held it over them in horrible, patient agony, before she finally tilted the blade enough that the globules of blood dribbled down its edge, and dropped to the flames.  
Just as his blood touched the flames, the circle turned scarlet, then darkened into a rich maroon. At the center of the pentagram, a rose of gold erupted, unfurling and opening to a black center. A black center that was the very narrow portal between this hell and that hell. It was only wide enough to allow a demon to grow from it, and only wide enough not to rip the dimension itself in half. It shimmered and the flames danced around it, making it turn other colors that gold.  
"_In rerum Dion invoco daemones novem regna infernum omnes suus orbem in hoc regno Dion non dicam, sed cum uno largitor Sebastiani Morgenstern filius Valentini Morgenstern hanc nocte et die super nos in carceribus, in tenebris regna sicut a flumine usque Charontis et invocare Deum Stygiis se ad loquendum cum eo dicitur, ut res de nocte et in tenebris hodie. Egredere o Charon, fluminis ripas Dei, qua invocavérimus te!_" The with had whipped out her spoon and rose it high above her head, "_SURGENT_!" The flames illuminated the room, rising high above Sebastian and the witch, and there was a surge of light, scorching incandescent light filled the room, and something like a thousand screams, and a thousand shattering mirrors, and one hundred earthquakes shaking all at once broke through the room and caused Sebastian to take a step back as out of the flames an obsidian shadow unfurled, it's tattered cloak flapped in the fiery wind, shadows reached out across the room, and when Sebastian looked around, he had found that the kitchen had been transmogrified into a cross between a cave and the kitchen. And behind him, the sound of rushing water reverberated through the room.  
Sebastian turned around, and saw the rushing black water crashing upon the river banks, and the cliff that they stood upon. The white salt sprayed up at him, reaching upward to rain down on the lower riverbanks. Further along, there were vast, blazing fields of black and crimson grass that wavered in frosty wind, yet it was all contradicting as the heat of the flaming fields warred against the cold winds.  
Sebastian turned back, and saw Charon standing before them, in his boney hand that was covered with grimy skin, was a seven foot tall pole, atop it, there was a swinging lantern, a low flame flickered in lantern.  
"_Who calls upon me_?" Charon asked, his voice was hallow and seemed to snap and whirl with the sound of many souls and many millennia.  
"I do." Sebastian said before the witch could reply. "I call upon you to ask that you resurrect my father, Valentine Morgenstern that you take him back across the River Styx, in exchange I will give you a soul. I also have one more request. I wish to bathe in the River Styx and gain my invincibility." The witch suddenly gawked at Sebastian, but Charon smiled, and when he did this, a hundred souls whispered out.  
"Whose soul dare you call down in exchange for the soul of your father?"  
"The soul of Jace Herondale, my dear brother." Sebastian smiled ear to ear, and Charon leaned on his lantern staff.  
"Then bring him to me, you cannot simply call down a soul unless you have their blood or their body."  
"And what of my father?" Charon placed his hand in his robes, and then produced a small globe of green light. "Here, his ticket still resides accounted for. Hades will need time for his court to decide the next move of action of your father."  
Sebastian gasped. "Are you insinuating that you may not be able to get my father back depending his ruling." Charon must've swallowed, there was a grating sound that came from him.  
"I have little effect on their ruling." Was all that Charon said.  
"What would it take for them to change my father's ruling? Or to stop the ruling all together? A blood sacrifice? My own soul? How much will it take to resurrect him?" Sebastian urged, and dare he say, begged.  
"The Court will hear you out if you bring them the one that you seek to replace, hold Valentine's punishment. If they do not accept that, you may have to go too far more drastic measures."  
"What kinds of measures?" Sebastian glowered.  
Charon glared at him for a long time, before he finally spoke. "Bring them the feather of an angel." Sebastian stared at Charon.  
"You're not serious are you? Do you think that angels are just standing in the middle of Wal-Mart giving out their feathers to just anyone? How do they or you expect anyone to steal the feather of an angel? You're outright mad to think that."  
"It all comes down the ruling, you cannot be so hasty to believe that you will have to go to such measures." Charon snapped, fury rose in his tone, and the flames in the pentagram blazed brighter.  
"Fine, how much time will I have to retrieve Jace Herondale?"  
"I would say about four days, Valentine is only one of millions of souls who are waiting to learn their fate." Charon said. Sebastian nodded. That should be enough time.

They stepped out of the Institute into the downpour, Clary under Jace's protective leather jacket, Jace himself was pressed against her, his warmth pouring off onto her. Magnus was behind them, wearing an ankle length jacket, his hair pent up into a bun, glitter glinted at the silent flash of lighting. Isabelle and Maryse had dressed in similar attire, both of them had thrown their hair into ponytails, their blades at their backs, and their jackets pressed tight against their skin. As they reached the rusty outlying gates of the Institute, Clary gasped, and Jace looked up, a similar sound undulating from his mouth.  
"Simon's gone." Clary said without thinking.  
"Obviously." Jace said in a sarcastic voice, Clary was not hurt by it.  
"Oh God, where could he be?" Clary asked as she quickly pulled out her phone, stepping into the rain. Her hair instantly began to stick to her cheeks, neck, and her shirts began pressing in on each other. Clary let out a small sigh of relief when Simon picked up on the other end. Clary sounded harsher than she had intended. "Simon, where are you? Why did you just take off?" She snapped.  
"I didn't mean to," he snapped back at her on the other end. "a situation came up." Clary narrowed her eyes as the slumping plants climbing up the rusty gates.  
"What kind of situation." Simon swallowed audibly.  
"Camille." Clary gasped, and turned to the others. She mouthed what had just been said back to them. All of their eyes widened, each of them looking at each other with worried and intrigued glances. Clary turned away from them again, running a hand through her hair.  
"Explain." Simon went off, telling everything quickly, without too much detail.  
"So, do you know where you are?" When he had finished.  
"Um…" he trailed off on the other end, sounding as though he were looking out of a window, or searching for a street—the sound of rain came through the phone in the background. "I think I'm at that old Starbucks building near Central Park." Clary nodded.  
"And what about the van?" Simon didn't answer, and Clary didn't like that. "Alright, we'll hail a taxi and figure something out, see you then." Clary said, ending the conversation. She turned to the Shadowhunters and warlock.  
"Well, we just lost our ride."


	7. Monsters

Mauve looked out the crack in the window, and scowled out at the night. She turned back to Herald whose face asked the question that came from his lips. "Well?"  
Mauve shook her head. "They should have been here by now, I can only imagine what their hold up could be." Herald raised an eyebrow, and Mauve didn't elaborate as she walked past him to sit in the dusty chair, letting out a deep sigh. Her blonde hair was lined with gray, despite her only being twenty nine. Her frost blue eyes had gotten darker in her many months being in the dark dimension. She wore a long, dark blue cloak as to hide in the shadows. The cloak rippled across her torso as it hung from her shoulders.  
Herald, though thirty some years, looked as though he were still fresh out of college—a complete opposite of the considerably young woman next to him. His brown hair was still tussled, and his green eyes were still innocent as they sat atop rosy cheeks, which blazed when he was angry, and softened when he was sad. He was quite bulky, and short—shorter than most of the men in the council who scraped six and seven feet, where he was just barely five seven.  
"Maybe we should go out and look for them, they might have been captured or hurt." Mauve shook her head even as he said it.  
"No we wait, if they don't get he soon, then we'll talk to the council." Mauve was once again out of her seat, restless as she had been for hours. At the crack, she gasped and turned to Herald who waited for his turn to gasp.  
"They're coming up now, Luke has phased—and it looks as though they have brought a companion along with them." Herald gasped as expected, and they hurried out to meet Luke, Amatis, and Jocelyn.

A few yards ahead of them, down the narrow path of a street, two figures appeared out of the shadows. Jocelyn slid off of Luke's back as the figures ran up to them. Jocelyn pulled Amatis from Luke's back; Luke phased and was handed Amatis.  
The two figures stopped, and Mauve opened her mouth to say something, but saw the large black stain on Amatis' shirt. She closed her mouth, and looked frantically from Luke to Jocelyn, and then back down to Amatis.  
"Tell the others that they've arrived, and tell them we need a healer." She said, tapping Heralnd on his arm. Herald din't move, and Mauve snapped her head to look at him. He was off and back inside within seconds, the Shadowhunters following closely behind.  
Once inside, Mauve began to speak quickly, the cold air of dark hall ahead of them brushing against their faces.  
"This is why you were late?" Mauve said, looking back at Luke.  
"Yes, we were attacked by a forsaken child, in fact, it was a parallel." Mauve nearly stopped, but remembered the urgency of their situation.  
"I haven't heard that term in many years Lucian, whose parallel?" Mauve asked quickly.  
"Nicholas's sons. Tried to kill us, not sure why, but it did. We'll talk more about it later, let's move faster, I feel like she's trying to slip away faster from us." They picked p their pace, several steps faster.  
"Whose she?" Mauve asked as they neared the wall at the end of the hall. Jocelyn was taken aback, remembering that she was actually here, for she had been silent since they had barged into the parlor and into the hall.  
"My name is Jocelyn, Jocelyn Fray. Or Morgenstern." Luke looked at her furiously, but Mauve understood.  
"Jocelyn Morgenstern, I thought that the legends were true—I thought you gave up shadowhunting after…" Mauve trailed off, Jocelyn was nodding.  
"I did, I did, but some things happened…specifically children and motherhood happened. You can only protect their minds for so long before they realize there's a reason mommy keeps a box of blonde hair under the sink." Mauve eyed her over her shoulder.  
They finally stopped at the wall. Mauve produced her stele from her breast, and wrote several complex runes onto the wall, each of them linking lively and creating a chain that read 'ATOMOS'. The bricks shuffled, pulled apart, and revealed a grandiose chamber.  
They stepped in quickly, Jocelyn hurried behind, slowly taken by the vastness of the room. The chamber, circular, was lined with columns, thick ones covered in ancient runes, that were barely legible in their current state, and Jocelyn could only imagine how powerful they actually were now. In-between the columns, there were decimated statues, and odd figure that looked to be a confabulation of ancient swords, crosses, and arrows. Hanging from the domed ceiling were large onyx colored bones—demon bones. One of the demon heads was staring right at Jocelyn, grinning mischievously at her. She looked away from it, and took in the rest of the chamber. The floor, cracked marble, each of the columns was faced with a large, golden rune—protection runes of some sort. In the center of the room, there was the long council table, where Amatis now lay, several of the council member's surrounding her, Luke couched on the table in front of her, his gear glinting in the dark light of the room.  
Jocelyn felt strangely out of place, as though it may have been a mistake for her to have come now, where she felt like that one girl at the party. In fact, she had at one point been that one girl at the party. She didn't like to think back on those times, when her own mother kept dark secrets from her, at one point even blindfolding her and locking her in a closet when a demon attacked their Maine home. She swallowed and came forth to the table.  
She didn't push her way through, rather she found a small nook where she could see through the tall shoulders of a slender woman, and an aged head with silver and black hair.  
Amatis's eyes were still closed, her chest was only moving slightly, the stain in her shirt was like a void now, eating up any piece of cloth that it could find.  
"Amon, do you think she can be healed?" Luke snapped at a large African man. He stared at Amatis, his dark eyes seeming to light with power, and for a moment Jocelyn doubted he was even human—maybe a hybrid.  
"It will take some time, but it can be done. Though, I cannot say that I will be able to start now, I do not have the materials that I need to repair the torn areas of her skin and innards." Luke looked at him with a horrified gaze.  
"Then go out in find them! We're in a city of demons, and you don't think that you'll be able to find _anything _that will help her? And can't you whisper any of your magical words or whatever it _grrr_is you do?" Jocelyn felt a horrible chill cross her path as she saw Luke's eyes flicker with a tinge of gold.  
"Don't test me werewolf!" Amon snapped at Luke. Jocelyn saw Luke's arm flex as he dug his fingers into the table.  
"Fine! Just heal my sister, we may not be the best pair, but she's still my blood." Luke said, looking away from Amon, and staring at his sister.  
"Well, someone's going to need to go out and go find the materials, in the mean time I'll watch over her and try and keep her stable; who wants to go?"  
"I will." Jocelyn said stepping forward, and instantly regretted it as all turned, all eyes rested on her, and Luke snarled—he retracted his fangs that he started to pierce his lips.  
"You will not." Luke growled.  
"I will, I want to help, and I came here to actually do something, not just stand here." She tried to zone out all the eyes staring at her, but it was harder than one might have thought.  
Luke only stared at her, narrowing his now gleaming eyes. "Don't get yourself hurt."

Camille stepped out of the cab with the red Victorian umbrella in hand. The rain drained off it's top, creating a thin curtain around her. She paid the driver in one hundreds, and blew him a kiss. He sat stunned, but she was already walking onto the sidewalk, her dress' hem becoming muddled, she didn't care though, a small price to pay for what was to come.  
She made her way down the sidewalk towards the center of the park, where a large pond awaited her. Before she was even ten yards from the pond, a figure pulled from the shadows, and the tip of a blade was at her throat. She smiled at Meliorn. He did not smile back, his pale skin was like lighting in the dark park.  
"Fancy meeting you here." Camille said with a small chuckle. Meliorn scowled at her.  
"What is it you bitch, why have you stepped onto my lady's soil?" Camille observed Meliorn, there was no fear in his eyes, she was more than sure he would have no problem sliding the blade right through her neck.  
"Your ladies soil has been soiled by the feet of mortals, it is violated, no man's land—neutral territory. Why are you threatening me?"  
"Because, my lady is too stupid to realize that there would be other Downworlders with the same offer to Simon Lewis, and she didn't realize that you're still around. Now what do you want?" Meliorn said to her, pressing the tip of the blade harder against her neck. Camille continued to smile.  
"A treaty."  
"A lie." Meliorn actually grinned a little this time.  
"Not so, I have come to pair up with your fair lady, she and I would make very good partners, powerful partners, generals of an even more powerful army."  
"Our court would never stand side by side with your kind, your filthy slutty kind."  
"Is that what you really think Meliorn?" He barred his teeth.  
"Don't you dare speak my name on this soil, wench, you have no right."  
"Say's who?" She barred her fangs.  
"You're testing my patience cold one." Camille laughed.  
"Why if I wasn't mistaken, I would say that you just used a 'racial' slur' against me. And also, if I wasn't mistaken, I'd say that you have a little glint in your eyes—you're looking at my breast." Meliorn gasped, his eyes actually widening—Camille felt the blade on her throat loosen. Just what she wanted.  
He growled, tightening his grip and once against pressing the blade against her throat. "Leave or I'll kill you, I'll let your blood spill and soak this soil, it will cause the plants to die, but it will be known that you died here on this night, Camille Belcourt." He twisted the tip of the blade, her skin did not pierce, instead it was pressed like a pillow.  
"Oh Meliorn, young fairy boy, you think that you know how to play this game, but you are obviously still lost as to whether or not you should move your queen or not. Allow me to teach you how we play this game of chess, dance this deathly dance, and sing this hollow song." Her words rolled off of her tongue smooth like silk, and it was almost like she was the fairy and he was nothing more than a mere mortal.  
He was growing impatiently flabbergasted. "I've had just about enough of you, leave or I'll make you."  
"Touch me fairy boy, touch me right here." She ripped his hand from the sword and pressed it against her breast, forcing him to squeeze.  
"Unhand me you unholy—"  
"Shut up and touch me, touch me good and long! I know you want it, and I know that you like how my firm, supple breast feels under your glove. Why don't you take those gloves off, feel me with your bare skin." She smiled at him—he had dropped his sword to his side unarmed and like a turtle out of his shell—moving in. He swallowed, and for a moment, Camille saw nothing but the true man-boy he was. A weak, venerable little boy who was only commanded—not unlike the moment at hand—and never asked what he wanted, how he wanted something, and how he liked it.  
She was within breathing distance now, and she dropped her umbrella, allowing the rain to shower down upon her, her blonde hair quickly sticking to her forehead, and the rain droplets making their way down the sides of her smooth face. Her suddenly thick lips were near his cool soft ones. Slowly she maneuvered his hand from her breasts down her abdomen, and towards her cunt.  
"Take it how you like it." She whispered to him. The sword clattered to the ground. He took it.

Her heels clicked down the stone floored hall. The torches blazed to life with each step. She burst into the court, and flung the boy to the ground. He was crying, sobbing really.  
"Oh my lady, my—_sob_—I'm so sorry. I—I—She just took advantage of me."  
"What a pitiful lie, you pervert." Camille said stepping around him. Meliorn sobbed again, his hands pressed hard against his face—his hands were bare, his gloves lost somewhere in the park above. The Seelie Queen was flabbergasted, rising from her seat, her hands gripping the arms.  
"Meliorn…Camille." She looked from both Camille and Meliorn, lost for words, and unable to speak. Finally, her face flared with rage.  
"What did you do to him you wench!" The queen was on her feet, her cerulean dress billowing around her ankles, and her flaring hair had been cast over one eye. Her one eye was burning into Camille's chest. Camille shrugged, a smirk on her face.  
Her blonde hair was everyone on her head, her blood red eyes were incredulous and elusive; her dress sagged on her shoulder. Finally, there was a small dribble of blood on the side of her lip; she licked it off. The Seelie Queen pressed her hand to her lips, and Camille saw something like a tremble come over her.  
"You're a monster, just like in the olden days, when you coldbloods tore apart the mortals, both sinful and pure. You're horrible." Camille only laughs. The court is silent, all the other fair folk are silent; their expressions are incredulous and horrified. Several of them have even turned away from the scene. After what seemed like an entire year of silence, the Queen finally spoke, looking away from Camille.  
"What is it that you want?" The Queen slowly found her seat her throne, the fair folk making moves to assist her, but she waved them away quietly, waiting for a response from Camille.  
Camille stepped towards the Queen, the Queen didn't move instinctively as she waited for Meliorn, but then she remembered…She shifted unpleasantly in her seat. "I want you to surrender, I want you to give up Simon, he's my piece to play, and I'm not going to let you take him like a pawn, he's much more than that. I need him, plus he technically my property to own, he's a vampire, not some fairy boy to be taken, like Meliorn." The Seelie Queen dug her nails into the arms of her chair.  
"Never, Simon is a good soul and all you're going to do is corrupt him, turn him into an instrument of evil rather than good."  
Camille pointed a finger at her, and pursed her lips. "You're the one who's saying I'm evil. I have grandiose dreams for the Downworld, a beautiful new era in which Vampires rule, in peace with all the rest of your Downworlders."  
"Doesn't sound as pleasing as you have come to believe." The Queen spat.  
"Don't be so negative, your Majesty, have a little…faith." The Queen frowned and her eyes became dark with horror at the vision of a vampire ruled Downworld.  
"I will not give up Simon, and once he learns what you are capable of—"  
"I think he already knows what I am capable of you sparkly little trickster."  
"Why—"  
Camille was in front of the Queen, her hand at her throat. The Queen cried out, and Meliorn snapped up to look at her.  
"Don't hurt her!" He shouted, and was on his feet, but nearly fell down had it not been for the aid of the other fairies who raced towards him. "You may have taken me, but you will not take my Queen, you will do no harm to her. I may not have my sword, nor my dignity, but I still have my priorities, and at the top of that list is to protect the Queen. Do no such harm to her, do not or I shall do such harm to you, that you shall wish you were no immortal whore!" Meliorn's voice, once pitiful and broken, was now powerful and full or a furious rage like the storm that came down above them. Camille's hand dropped from the Queens neck, and the Queen let out the one breath she never thought she would hold, and true fear had coursed through her. She didn't understand it.  
Camille stepped down from the Queens perch, and sauntered towards Meliorn, a grin played at the corner of her lips. "You are mine now beautiful Meliorn, mine to keep, mine to take, your priorities are not on her, and they are on me."  
He snarled at her. "Never."  
Camille nodded, touching Meliorn's cheek lightly. "My dear, have you already forgotten the little taste I got out of you?" He only looked at her with confused incredulousness. "Feel your cheek dear boy." Slowly his bare hands came to his neck, and his eyes bulged. He began to shake his black haired head, stepping away from Camille.  
"No," he only mouthed it, but the silence grew into a steady, cracking crescendo. "No, no, no, _NO_! It cannot be!" He shouted. Camille cocked her head to the side, a smile had opened on her face.  
"Oh but it is, sweet Meliorn, you're mines to keep, mines to have, mines to command." Camille whirled around slowly, her hands clasped together. "If you surrender Simon Lewis to me, then you can have your broken knight back, though you may not want him, for he may not be able to protect more than a blade of grass, still, give me Lewis and all will be at peace. Well, for a time at least." The Queen's mouth hung open.  
"You…there are no words for your ghastly presence, there are no words for your pure evil. You sicken me." Camille raised an eyebrow.  
"So is that a yes?" The Queen only looked away. Camille shrugged, turning to Meliorn. "Come Meliorn, it appears that your ex-manager has made her choice. There are things to be done, and I need to speak with a certain Vampire I need to speak with, for the beginning of my reign begins at my old castle." She started out of the court, Meliorn looked at the Queen, and looked at his feet.  
"I am sorry, I have failed you." He said, and with that, he left.

Simon's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he picked it up instinctively, without even looking at the caller ID. "Hello?" He said quickly as he leaned forward in the Starbucks booth.  
"Simon Lewis! Where are you? Where are you? You come home _right _now!" Simon leat out of the booth, and clutched the phone tightly to his ear, his voice was lost, and his mind was suddenly racing, twice as paranoid without his heart.  
"Mom." Was all he could say, and he heard something strange on the other side of the call—sobbing. "Mom, what's wrong?"  
"Simon…what—what is this stuff, what is this red stuff that you have! Why are you gone, and how come you—you—" she was in hysterics, and Simon dropped his phone, the screen cracked on the tile floor. He could only stand there, paralyzed with fear and shock. No breath came from between his lips, it was trapped in his lungs and throat.  
On the floor, his mom was creaming his name. He was out of the Starbucks moments later without looking back at the phone.

He didn't know where he was going, he was only letting his feet guide him, only his feet were guiding him. The rain painted his face, but he didn't care, he only ran. He shoved people out of the way—too forcefully, they flew off their feet and slammed into walls and through shop windows—he didn't look back.  
If Vampire could produce any kind of tearful emotions, tears of anger, shock, fear, and sadness would have washed over his face at this very moment. Something hit his nose, and ti was a scent that he had smelt many times before in his life as a human—in his other kind of immortality—but now, it had a strange new smell, it was sweeter, and it made his stomach rumble in a way that animal blood had never done. It made him want to be a predator, want to be the monster that his kind were, it made him want to dig his claws right into their throat.  
"No!" he shouted to himself, and falling through a small mob of people, he crumpled behind a dumpster in the very same alley where just moments ago, Jordan Kyle and Oren had been, they now sat in the café behind the alley's wall, unbeknownst to Simon's very existence.  
He dug his fingers into the ground, and quite literally they dug. The smell was so strong, it might have only been a cut as small as a paper cut, or it could have been a wound like a gunshot. He groaned as his stomach growled louder, like a car motor roaring to life.  
"No! No, no!" He bellowed—his fangs retracted, and there was nothing her could do. His fingers came to his hair, and something passed through him—panic, hunger, rage.  
"What—What is this?" He asked, his hands coming to his chest, his nails had become long and sharp. "I can't breathe."  
"You have to eat." A voice said, it was neither feminine nor masculine, it was only a voice, real and unreal all the same. Simon looked at the end of the alley, there was a figure hiding from the streetlight a few yards away from Simon.  
"Who are you?" Simon shouted, actually gasping for air that was not there. "How come—_wheeze_—I need to breathe? Why?" He was frantic now, both hands at his chest, and digging into his impenetrable skin.  
"You have to drink, Simon, you have to drink and drink, and drink until you feel like you've just eaten an entire buffet, you must follow the calling of nature, Simon, for if you do not, only death will follow." The figures voice was becoming more masculine with each move it made towards Simon, and as it came into view, Simon gasped.  
It was him.  
He was covered in what looked ot be runes, but obviously were not, rather, they looked like battle scars, tattoos, and odd markings that Simon could not place with Shadowhunters. He was wearing shades, and his dark hair was now long and tied into a pony tail. This version of himself wore dirty trousers, a dirty dress shirt, and on his back was a pitchfork.  
Simon was confused as ever. "How is this possible? What are you—_wheeze_—a shape shifter?"  
The marked Simon shook his head. "Something much more, but you have to feed Simon you have to live, and not like a vegan, it's time you embraced what you have so long defied." His other self was now within breathing distance of him.  
"No—" He shook his head, clutching his eyes. He tried to take a breath, but his breaths were to short, too shallow. "No, I can't—_wheeze_—feed on a human, I just can't."  
"But you can, Simon, you can!" His other self said. Simon only stared, and the world was beginning to spin, beginning to become blurry, and he began to feel weaker. The rain…it was colder than before, in fact, he could not actually feel the rain. He didn't like it. "Feed, Simon, live."  
He couldn't hold it off any longer, as much as he wanted to, there was nothing he could do. Survival took over, he was on his feet, and sprinting through the city within seconds, salivia drooling from his mouth, and his eyes glowing red in the night.

He came to a small alcove where a group of homeless men were sitting around a burned out fire. They didn't see him at the end of the alley, his shoulders rising and falling lightly—he was still out of breath—he licked his lips, and in the next second he ravaged them.  
He tackled them, digging his fangs into their neck, listening to the wonderfully fulfilling crunch as their skin was snapped and his fangs broke their thick veins. The rain washed the blood that coated his face right away. He went from one to the next, opening their chest and biting into their hearts without remorse, they screamed out into the night. But no one would hear them, for now thunder was rolling in great waves. Simon ripped a frail one's arm right off, and let the blood spill onto his once clean shirt, and right into his mouth. His once tense chest was now stretched with newfound air that he didn't know could feel and taste so good.  
"Please! Please!" One shouted as he held his hands up before his face, but Simon did not hear, he heard nothing but the sound of blood spilling, the screams in fear and pain, and the wonderful sound of his fangs busting the veins of the poor men. Simon lunged at the man who had plead out to him, and ripped his jaw open, punching his hand through the man's lips and finding his spinal cord. He heard the sick crunch, like someone biting into an apple, and pulled with all the strength he could muster. The man bellowed, tears coming down his face as the cord came fright through his lips. Simon threw it away, and kicked the man to the ground where he then dig his fangs into his limp neck—the blood spilled easily, flowed smoothly like fresh cream soda, and filled his stomach. The warmth of the blood was like no other warmth—not even that of a hug, or the sun on his skin—a warmth he hadn't felt in so long, a warmth he had only dreamed off, or maybe not, only imagined. For he could no longer dream, he was but a demon who wandered the earth.  
He finally understood something about being a Vampire, something that he wouldn't have understood without this moment. They wandered the earth, most of them alone without a single friend, for all of them were dead, and if they were not deead, they were vampires as well wandering the earth without a place. He understood what pain he would have to face for the rest of eternity, and he found that if this is what it meant to be at peace with his nature, then so be it, it was better than suffering to fight against it.  
Simon whirled around at the sound of scuffling, and he found that one of them wasn't dead yet, his legs had been torn off—Simon did not remember this, most of the torture he had pushed upon the poor souls had been in a haze of hunger—and he left a long trial of blood as he tried to escape. Simon stood up from the spineless man he had drained and wiped his red lips with the back of his hand. Sauntering towards the legless man, his stomach still rumbled, and something in the back of his mind told him that this was the grand final course in his grand crimson feast. He grabbed the man by his hair, and pulled his head back so that they were now face to face. "No, no, there will be no survivors." Simon said with a smile, and then pulled the man's head back further—blood sprayed out into the night. Simon pressed his lips against eh open wound and sucked, draining the man.  
He was a husk when he dropped him, his arms splayed out, and his eyes wide with eternal shock. Simon stood tall and wiped away the mess on his face, letting the rain get the rest. He burped, the taste of iron touching his mouth again, and patted his flat stomach, full with blood. He looked around at the mess he had made. Spilled blood was everyone, it had literally flooded the small alcove, there was so much that Simon could not tell what was blood and what was water. Black lines and splatters had decorated the redbrick walls. The carcasses of the hobo's were everywhere. One of them was leaning against the wall, his palms face up, his eyes looking forward, and dried blood left a line from his mouth to his neck. Another was face first on the ground, his legs and arms bent at impossible angles, and he reminded Simon of a swastika. Another Simon had left to dry atop a rusting fence, blood dripped from his hands, and his body was limp. There was the spineless man, and the legless man. All of them were dead, soaked in their blood and in the rain.  
Lightning struck, lighting up the alley, and sending shadows across the blood soaked ground. Simon watched his own shadow, tall and heavy looking…the only one standing. As another chorus of thunder rolled across the sky, Simons mind finally processed regularly, and his fangs retracted, as did his claws, and his eyes stopped glowing like headlights.  
"Oh God…" he whispered, trying to take a step forward, but only finding himself on the ground, his knees in the puddle of blood. He reached out to the legless husk he had drained, but then pulled away. His hands were shaking. He didn't know that Vampires could feel shock, and he hadn't felt something like this since the early weeks of August when Clary found out what she was. He looked at his hands—they were scarlet, his nails were dark and coated with black.  
"Oh God." He said again, and suddenly he was on all fours, and a sob escaped him, though tears did not. "God!" He shouted, and for a brief moment, his throat burned. Finally, his stomach lurched. He vomited.

"And still gone." Jace said as they walked into the Starbucks, and observed all the patrons who were there, which would be zero. The only people there were the four teenagers who were working in the kitchen, one girl at the counter reading some old novel. They didn't even bat an eye their way; the girl reading the book flipped the page.  
"Wonderful," Clary said throwing up her arms, but then she saw his phone lying screen first on the floor. She picked up and ran her finger along the crack. Pressing the home button, she found that there were thirteen missed calls from his mother. "What…" Clary hurried to the counter. "Did any of you happen to see a teenage boy—handsome, pale, brown-haired—run out of here?" The girl reading the book looked up at Clary, and then back at her partners.  
"Well," said a chubby girl who had been playing Candy Crush on her phone. "He came in, and then a few minutes later he ran out, don't know why." Clary nodded and turned to the others.  
"He's gone off on his own, I don't know why—" Just then, Jordan Kyle and Oren entered the Starbucks, the bell on the door breaking Clary's words.  
"If you're looking for a certain vampire, I just saw one a few blocks away, he may be the one you're looking for." All the Shadowhunters just stare dat Jordan, surprised by the spectacular announcement.  
"Erm, who are you?" Jace asked.  
"Jordan Kyle, of the Praetor Lupus, but that's not important, we can talk it over some coffee after we get him. I think he may have just committed mass murder."


End file.
